


Not Your Valley

by TheGrumpyDockworker



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alchemist!Junkrat, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Ana/Reinhardt, Background Relationships, Dryad!Roadhog, Elf!Junkrat, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Junkrat truly is a brilliant idiot and you can't tell me otherwise, M/M, Mercenary!Hanzo, Mercenary!McCree, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, Very brief onesided Junkrat/McCree
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-10-07 07:07:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10354857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGrumpyDockworker/pseuds/TheGrumpyDockworker
Summary: It's man versus nature as an estranged elven alchemist stumbles upon a secret hideaway he could have only dreamed of. The only problem is, this hideaway doesn't belong to him. With the help of some mercenaries willing to do anything for a couple of gold pieces, Jamison Fawkes prepares to wage war against a tree.





	1. Chapter 1

“C’mon, c’mon, just a little more…”

Jamison’s hand was perfectly steady as he raised one glass, tipping the contents into a dark green substance bubbling sluggishly in another flask. The clear liquid, as innocent-looking as water, trickled slowly down the tilted test tube; as it reached the lip, it hung precariously for one long moment, then released a single drop into the mixture below.

It turned a bright, cheerful orange.

Giggling madly, Jamie set the clear substance aside quickly, abandoning the careful precision he had adopted just a moment ago. Subtlety was against his nature, yet it was something his profession demanded.

Alchemy fascinated Jamison Fawkes. It gave him a purpose. For years, he had bitterly carried the knowledge that he would never possess magical talent. There was nothing as beautiful to him as the ability to conjure a giant fireball out of thin air. Lacking that ability, the next best thing was alchemy. If he couldn’t summon an explosion, he’d have to settle for cooking one.

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes, my little beauty,” he cooed, practically vibrating from excitement as he bore down upon his creation. It gleamed mischievously in the flickering candlelight of his secret laboratory - an old wine cellar.

To be honest, Jamie wasn’t quite sure who the decrepit old cabin previously belonged to. A few years back, he had stumbled upon it, in all its rotting glory, in the middle of some woods. He had been on the run at the time; the last city he had set up shop in didn’t take too kindly to his business when one of his creations was responsible for the local pub going up in flames. After a couple of expertly-timed explosions distracted the mob chasing him, he ran into the forest as fast as his peg-leg could carry him. After a few nights of aimless wandering and eating strange berries (which he quickly set aside in one of his many jars for later testing), he happened across the abandoned house.

 

\--

 

At first glance, the cabin seemed to consist of a single room. Simple and sparsely decorated, it amounted to little more than a lumpy bed, a small table and chair, a tiny pantry, and a dusty old fireplace. No sign of the last owner.

While his mental stability was questionable, Jamie was nothing if not clever. He knew there was more to the place than met the eye, and in under an hour he would know its secret.

He had strolled around the room, taking in everything it had to offer. A single plate was left upon the table, a few bones scattered across it from some bird. Probably pheasant. There was a ring stained upon the table beside it. A cup? He ducked his head under the table. Nothing. A quick scan around the room told him there was no cup present.

The pantry was empty but for a few wilted greens strung up. He poked at them with a grimace, making a mental note that the soil around the house might be arable. He made to shut the door when something squished beneath his foot. Lifting his leg, he found a grape on the ground. Odd.

He kicked up the threadbare rug. The worn floor below offered no secrets. That was fine.

The bed, lumpy as it was, seemed fairly comfortable, save for some hard pockets below the surface. Pressing his hands to the mattress, Jamie found a tear at one corner. Shoving his hand in, he sifted about until he located one of the lumps. A bottle, empty. The label had been scratched off.

The fireplace was covered in soot, yet there was no firewood around it, nor was there a poker. Never one to be daunted by dirt, Jamison threw himself into the shaft, feeling around the wall. Loose bricks, perhaps some secret compartment…?

No such luck. The chimney seemed perfectly solid.

With a frustrated snarl, Jamie stomped his peg, desperate to let some of his energy out. As soon as it came into contact with the floor, he became deadly still. Slowly, he lifted the peg again and brought it down once more.

The hollow thud that answered was unmistakable.

Dropping to his knees, Jamie began pawing at the floor, a manic grin slowly spreading across his face. Wiping the ash aside carelessly, he could just barely see the outline of a hatch.

“Sneaky bugger,” he murmured, admiration thick in his tone. “Let’s see what’s behind door number one…” His fingers caught on the edge of the trap door, and after a moment of scrabbling he managed to flip it open. He peered down into the darkness; carved into the wall were deep grooves, clearly some manner of ladder. A short length of knotted rope hung from the bottom of the hatch. Lowering himself through the door, Jamie clung tightly to the wall. Once he was all the way through, he reached for the rope and pulled it shut.

He immediately regretted that.

With a loud clang of the door slamming shut, Jamie was plunged into darkness.

“Ah, _crackers_.” His voice seemed unnaturally loud. He had no idea what, or who, was in there with him, and he had just shut out his only light source. He didn’t even know how far down the floor was. The ladder was hard enough to keep to with a peg-leg; when he tried pulling one hand away to see if he could push the hatch back open, he couldn’t seem to muster enough force to budge it. Or perhaps there was some sort of mechanism or latch he couldn’t see. He quickly snapped the hand back to the rung. “Er, if there’s anything particularly mean or murder-y down there, just gimme a minute, a’right? Hold off on the murder.” He almost added under his breath, ‘ _That’s my job, after all_.’

No response. He wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or a bad sign.

Rummaging about in his pack with one hand, Jamie tried his best to do two very difficult things: one, rely on touch rather than sight in a very jumbled bag, and two, not fall to his potential death. After a moment of fumbling and cursing quietly, he fingers closed around exactly what he was searching for: a glass sphere, smooth except for a few scratches that formed the word ‘ _FLASH_ ’. Giving the orb a good shake, he waited one more moment for some horrible monster to lunge, shrieking, at him. When no such thing happened, he hurled the object down into the abyss.

The sound of shattering glass was accompanied by an explosion of light. For a brief moment, the area was illuminated. He didn’t bother trying to take in all his surroundings; for that split second, the ground was his only concern.

Jamie exhaled, wheezing out a shaky giggle. To his relief, the floor was not a far drop. He scrambled down a few more rungs before pushing off the wall. Despite the short distance, pain still shot up his good leg. He hissed and teetered, hoping his knee wouldn’t buckle, then hastily pressed his back against the wall. He refused to let anything sneak up on him, on the off-chance that there actually was something in there with him.

“Another minute, please,” he said to the blackness, shoving his hand back into his bag. His love for fire came in handy there, and soon he was catching up a small silver matchbox. With a quick, loving stroke, he lit a single match.

The tiny pinprick of fire pulled his world back from the darkness. The flame did not reach very far, and it cast odd, dancing shadows across the room, but it was better than nothing.

The first thing Jamison noticed about the cellar was its size. He was standing in one of the corners, and with only a match, he could not see the opposite walls. This secret room was undoubtedly larger than the cabin above.

Feeling the rush of warning pump through his veins, Jamie grinned and ignored the little voice in his head urging him to be careful. With every passing year, that voice seemed to grow more distant. Holding the match aloft in one hand and keeping the other close to his pack, he stepped boldly into the chamber.

He worked his way around the cellar, squinting about in the dim light. Dust seemed to cover every surface. He could make out the shape of a cot pushed up against a heap of boxes. Nothing terribly interesting, until he approached the opposite side of the room. Great, oaken vats lined one wall, a strong fruity aroma lingering near them. Taking his hand away from his bag, Jamie knocked it lightly against the old wood; the sound that came with it confirmed that there was some sort of liquid inside. Wine, left there to ferment for who knew how long.

“I know what I’m doing tonight,” he mumbled, looking forward to getting piss-drunk later.

He moved along each of the casks, rapping his knuckles against their sides as he went. He relished the thought of some good, homemade wine to sing him to sleep at night. The gods only knew he needed it. The very idea left him with a warm, bubbly feeling in his stomach, a feeling typically reserved for arson and blowing things up.

As he reached the end of the row, his distracted state wound up biting him in the ass when something caught at his foot and sent him sprawling forward. The cold slap of the ground met his cheek with an unpleasant thud. His match went out, snuffed against the stone floor.

“Oof!” Jamie groaned. Whatever he tripped over was digging into the lean flesh of his stomach. He went to push himself off the floor, but his left hand didn’t hit stone. It hit fingers. “Oh, sorry, mate.”

He froze. _Fingers_?

Slowly, he drew another match and struck it. In the dancing orange light, a waxy, rotting face stared back at him.

“Eugh. I’m definitely gonna need that drink now.” With remarkable calm, he rolled off the corpse’s lap to get a better look at it. Standing over the body, he made a few quick observations.

Older male, judging by the wispy gray tufts of hair protruding from his scalp. Simple attire, fit for a farmer or peasant. He’d likely been dead for awhile. Beside him, a goblet sat on its side. The floor was stained a deep reddish-purple. Picking up the goblet, Jamie imagined its base might fit the ring on the table upstairs. A thousand tiny cracks spread through it like spider webs. Glancing back down at the body, he noticed one more thing.

One of the man’s legs was twisted at a very odd angle.

Jamie hummed, expression uncharacteristically thoughtful. “You poor bastard,” he said, prodding at the leg with his peg. “Had a few too many one night, didn’t ya? Tried to climb up your ladder and fell, right on that leg? And with nothing else to do, just drank yourself to death…”

There was a long silence following his theory. The corpse offered no input.

It started off slow, a tiny, dry chuckle. Soon, giggles bubbled up, followed by booming peals of laughter. Jamison roared in his amusement, the light flickering wildly as he shook with cackles. He wiped a tear dramatically from his eye, smiling down at the body.

“Hooley Dooley, mate, good thing you’re dead. I wouldn’t wanna listen to you _wine_ about that leg!”

His crazed laughter echoed throughout the cellar, as if a whole crowd were applauding his clever joke. He rather liked it.

In the following hours, Jamie got to work prepping the cellar. He set up a number of candles to completely illuminate the large room and took stock of the basement. Aside from the wine vats and cot, there were several sturdy tables and cabinets that would prove useful in his experiments. Setting his pack on one table, he started clearing it out and lining a shelf with his various jars and bottles. Thankfully, nothing had broken during his fall earlier.

At the far wall, a large locked door sat ominously. A tiny barred window allowed the barest glimpse into the tunnel beyond it, and Jamie figured that must be how the basement was vented. After a quick frisk (“Sorry again, mate,”), he found the key in one of the corpse’s pockets.

He moved the body into one of the room’s corners, opting to decide what to do with it later. He never found out who that man was.

He didn’t care to.

 

\--

 

In the years after his initial discovery of the place, Jamison turned that hidden wine cellar into the perfect laboratory. But alas, trouble had a way of following Jamie around, and it was only a matter of time for his perfect little bubble to be popped.

He hummed, pleased as he gazed down at the orange mixture.

“Part knotgrass, part red gossamer, part nymph sweat,” he sang cheerfully as he made a mental checklist of his own recipe. He tapped his foot as he stared at his messy, crowded cabinet, jars filled with ingredients most people could only dream about. ‘Crocodile Tongues’ and ‘Harpy Hair’ were a bit out there, but the quickly scrawled labels reading ‘Angel Feathers’ and ‘Dragon Eggshell’ were the real gems. A nostalgic grin crossed his face as he caught sight of ‘Demon Semen’. Now that was a fun expedition. “A little hatred, a pinch of excitement, a whole lotta boom. Hm. What’s missing? Oh, right…”

Jamison strode to the locked door with a spring in his step, grabbing the key off his belt. Enjoying the little ‘ _click!_ ’ that rang out, he pushed open the door and started down the corridor behind it. This was what truly convinced Jamie to stay at the cabin years ago. Down the long, winding path lay a secret so wonderful he nearly cried the first time he saw it.

The further down the tunnel he went, the floor began to slope upwards. Not a sharp incline by any means, but noticeable. The sweet smell of fresh summer air grew stronger, as did the sound of running water. The cold stone eventually grew warm as sunlight reached to wash over it. The thin tunnel gradually widened until it opened up into the mouth of a cave.

And before him, nestled in a ring of mountains, was his own private valley.

Apparently, the previous owner, Whoever-The-Fuck, used the place as a vineyard. Just past the cave’s exit was a maze of trellises, woven with vines and laden with clusters of grapes so dark they were nearly black. A stream wound through, peacefully bubbling by with cold, fresh water. Beyond the vineyard, the valley largely appeared to be a meadow, colored by a hundred different wildflowers. At the far side of the vale, a small wooded area sat in the shadow of the mountains. The small forest was home to all sorts of critters, and Jamie could have sworn he saw a buck disappearing into the thicket once.

The whole place was an alchemist’s wet dream.

Since he had first arrived, Jamison set about molding the valley to his ideal garden. The place was perfect for cultivating many different ingredients, and Jamie wasted no time. Soon enough, the valley was divided into little sections good for growing certain things. His organization wasn’t perfect, and his labelling system left much to be desired, but it worked for him.

That particular day, the last ingredient he needed for his latest alchemical venture was a certain mushroom.

He wandered off towards the forest, humming tunelessly as he went. Though he would never admit it, he had fallen into some semblance of routine living there, which was wholly unknown to him. He spent his entire life just making it up as he went, and now he was finding a comfortable rhythm to his days. It meant, for the first time in his life, his guard was down.

Weaving through the mess of roots, Jamie maneuvered through the trees with no problem. After a good year of tripping every five feet, he had finally gotten used to the area. After a few minutes, he came to the dark, damp area up against the mountainside where he cultivated various fungi. A small wooden post bearing “Nature’s Dicks” in sloppy red paint marked the spot, and he busily began gathering up a few shrooms.

And that was when a force akin to a herd of stampeding stallions slammed into his side. He was out before he could utter a single, startled, “Fuck!”

When Jamie came to, night had fallen upon the valley. The darkness was probably a blessing, as the headache he was experiencing at that moment already threatened to split his skull in two.

“Ugh…” He clutched at his patchy scalp, feeling the tender lump where most of the pain was stemming from. “Haven’t felt this shitty since me fifth birthday…” The weak giggle that followed was cut short as he noticed the giant shadow looming over him. “Oh. Well, ain’t you a big ol’ bastard?”

The shadow’s shape was human, if humans were musclebound goliaths with guts like boulders, which in his experience they were not. In the darkness, Jamie could barely make out any features of this strange… person, but his eyes were more quickly drawn to what the thing had clutched in its hand. Gleaming wickedly in the faint starlight, a sharp hook made of some sort of polished stone rested at the stranger’s side. From what Jamie could tell, it was attached to a rough wooden handle, a long vine twining around it that’s full length disappeared into the darkness behind the shadow. The sound of heavy breathing brought Jamie’s attention from the very dangerous-looking weapon back to the giant before him. Before he could get another word out, a voice that could move mountains rumbled over him, leaving every hair on his body standing on end.

“This is not your valley.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They say your life flashes before your eyes right before death. Between living past memories and facing his potential demise, Jamison would probably take his chances with the demise.

There were very few things in the world that scared Jamison Fawkes. He prided himself on that fact, though in the past he had been told there was a very thin line between ‘brave’ and ‘stupid’, a line he straddled like no tomorrow. All the same, his courage was not without limits.

When he was a child, he feared his clan might reject him. A boy so hopelessly mundane from a family of elves renowned for their magic. A lineage of more than a hundred great druids hung over his name like an army of storm clouds hung over a peaceful port. He quickly learned the solution to that fear: the clan couldn’t abandon him if he abandoned them first.

Alone at a very young age, he picked up new fears. He was scared of starving, of not being able to find a safe place to sleep at night, of stumbling across dangerous folk with nothing better to do than torment a small, defenseless child. Crime turned out to be an excellent way of gaining food, shelter, and protection, and it didn’t take long until he fell in with a group of thieves willing to use kids as part of their heists.

As he grew older, Jamie’s fears became less concrete. He became scared of boredom, of being someone else’s tool, of not being able to decide his own fate. One day, he woke up and realized those thieves who took him in all those years ago were just using him, so he left. It cost him an arm and a leg, literally, but he managed to escape with a couple of other children that had been ‘adopted’. He remembered being dragged through dark alleyways, the desperate voices of the other kids whispering on either side of him.

\--

“What are we gonna do? He’s losing so much blood…” The girl, a few years younger than him, was barely big enough to hold him up, but she refused to leave him behind. “Just hold on, Junky…”

Despite the excruciating pain, Jamison almost laughed. Hana never could give up her nicknames, nor could she ever forget the fact that the group had first found him asleep in a pile of garbage.

“We gotta find a healer, fast.” The boy on his other side looked about frantically, as if a cleric might be hiding just around a corner. “I thought there was one… um…” The sound of heavy footsteps not too far behind brought him up short. He glanced down at Jamie with terror in his eyes.

A bleary smile crossed Jamie’s face. “Just leave me, Luce. It ain’t worth it, I’m a goner anyway.” He figured some dramatics might push Lúcio out of his stupor. What he wasn’t expecting was a look of genuine sadness and hurt to shoot through his warm brown eyes. As if he actually cared what happened to him.

“No, no, you shut your face,” Hana interrupted firmly, pushing onward. “I remember there’s a potion shop nearby. I tried stealing from there once. It, uh… didn’t work out. But the woman there, they say she’s a hero! She’ll help!”

“After you tried to burglarize her?”

“Less talking, more walking!”

Jamison was, for once in his life, quiet. That was largely due to the fact that speaking hurt almost as much as his right side hurt. He kept a silent mantra going in his mind, ‘ _Don’t look, don’t look, gods, don’t look down_.’ As if refusing to look would somehow change the fact that his so-called ‘family’ had let loose a half-starved hound after them once they realized they were bolting. He could still see its jaws snapping viciously at them, hear the screams of pain that it tore from him along with his right limbs. He wouldn’t be surprised if that one moment haunted him for the rest of his life.

He was wrenched mercifully from his still-fresh memories as Hana and Lúcio began pounding on the door in front of them. He wasn’t sure how long it took for them to reach it, but there they were, and he hadn’t even bled into unconsciousness yet! Jamie stared up at the building; in his haze, the house seemed to shimmer and swim before him. He could just barely read the old wooden sign hanging beside the door: “Amari’s Alchemicals”.

“Please, please, open up!” Hana called desperately, throwing a feverish glance over her shoulder. “We need help!”

“Hana, _quiet_ ,” Lúcio pleaded, his voice low and strained. “They’ll be on us in a second if you keep shouting.”

Hana rounded on him furiously, nearly dropping Jamie as she did so. “This is urgent! We need to get her attention, or else it won’t matter at all.”

“That’s right, you little brat, it doesn’t matter.” The two arguing children tensed at the rough voice that rang out behind them. Jamie likely would have made a break for it if he was in any shape to do so. They turned, only to find their worst nightmare in the flesh. Staring them down, arms crossed over his chest and hatred in his eyes, was the leader of the thieves, their ‘father’. “You ungrateful little shits… Look what you’ve done to yourselves. To our dear Junkrat.” The nickname didn’t sound nearly as affectionate coming from him as it did from Hana. To his side, one of his lackeys struggled to keep a hold on the hound’s chain. Blood was smeared around its maw, and an unmistakable hunger lingered on its face. “That’s all you are, a filthy little rat that scurried away from the nest. If it was just you, well, that would be one thing.” He spat on the ground, disgust evident with every movement. “But you try to steal two of my children away from me? That’s the worst damn mistake you ever made in your miserable life, knife-ear.”

Through his blurred vision, Jamie saw the gleam of a blade being drawn out into the moonlight. Its shine was spellbinding, as if its mere presence demanded everyone stop breathing and only stare at it. Thus, nobody noticed a light flicker to life in the house. Father advanced slowly, swinging the dagger with terrifying casualness.

“I’m not mad at you. Promise. I’ll take you all back home now. We’ll bandage you up, and you’ll be right as rain.” A dark chuckle passed his lips that proved his every word meaningless. “I can think of plenty of uses for a crippled elf, can’t you?”

“No, I can’t.” A new voice cut in, cold with disdain, followed by the crash of glass against stone. The three children just caught the sight of a vial shattering in front of Father, before an explosion of flames threw up a wall between them. Over the roar of the fire, the voice spoke to them, “Quickly, children, in here.” Without a minute to think, Hana and Lúcio scrambled to haul Jamie into the house. He stared with wide eyes at the scene they were retreating from, and even as the door slammed shut he could only think of one thing: he just witnessed a _bottled explosion_. 

The first room was an odd mixture of a store, a workshop, and a sitting room. A long counter separated the entrance from the work area, where a countless number of marvelous-looking potions and ingredients sat on shelves and displays. The door was locked up tight, and they came face to face with a tall, striking figure swathed in many layers of fabric. The blue cowl didn’t cover the motherly look in the stranger’s eye.

“It’s… you…” Hana whispered, awestruck.

“Move him onto the workbench, over there,” the woman commanded, pointing them to a low table behind the counter. They quickly passed through the counter’s gate and heaved Jamie onto the surface. He whimpered at the motion, blood seeping from his wounds. “Now, follow my instructions exactly. On the third shelf from the right, there is a bottle of clear liquid, and in the drawer below you’ll find a pack and bandages. Take both. Use the liquid to clean his wounds. It will sting, but it is better than the alternative. There are poultices in the pack, unwrap them and place them on the wounds, then bandage them tightly. I will be back in a moment. Do not look outside. Do not listen to what is happening outside. Do not think about what is happening outside. Stay here and save your friend.” She spoke with a fierce determination that shook them to the core.

“Mother? What is going…?” From within the house, a dark-haired young woman appeared in the room. Her eyes roamed from the woman, to the bleeding elf, to the inferno blazing outside. Her expression hardened.

“Fareeha, help these children,” the woman said as she turned to the door. “Don’t let that boy die.”

“Yes, Mother.”

The girl rushed to Jamie’s side, keeping her expression carefully blank as screaming began working its way into the house from outside. “You’re going to be all right, kid. Just look at me. You’re going to be all right.”

The last thing Jamie remembered seeing was the girl’s face, stern and hawk-eyed, before everything went black. Even as his vision failed, he could hear the screams of his ‘father’ and ‘family’, before even they faded into nothingness.

\--

“...nky? Junky? Look, he’s-- he’s breathing! Junky, wake up! Please!”

When Jamison finally mustered up the strength to crack his eyelids open, he thought the morning light would blind him. He was staring up at the ceiling, and a trio of faces swam in his vision above him. Two familiar, worried faces, and one he didn’t quite recognize… ah, yes, she was the girl from last night, Fareeha…

When he made to sit up, half a dozen hands rushed to push him back down.

“Whoa, take it easy, Jamie,” came Lúcio’s reassuring voice. “You’re all right…”

He lolled his head over, staring down at his bandaged side. That was when he truly realized his arm and leg were gone. When he started wheezing out laughs, the other kids exchanged startled looks. “Nah, I’m not all _right_ , I'm all _left_ now! Hee hee hee…”

“He’s lost it…” Hana whispered.

“Quiet,” Fareeha said, her voice holding the exact same commanding tone her mother used earlier. “Just rest. My mother will be home soon.”

“She came in and patched you up properly right after you passed out last night,” Lúcio explained. “She ran out the door as soon as she was done. I’m not sure--”

As if summoned by his words, the door banged open, cutting him off. From his position, Jamie couldn’t see past the counter, but his ears were keen enough to distinguish that there were two pairs of footsteps stomping into the house. The alchemist’s face, no longer covered by her cowl, came into view first, but the owner of the second pair remained out of sight… until Jamie craned his neck and realized that the woman was actually being followed by a dwarf.

“Ah, you’re awake. Excellent.” The woman pulled up a chair by his side. Her dark skin was weathered by age and she was missing an eye, but there was an unspoken grace and power in her movements that said neither of those things could dare to hold her back. “How are you feeling?”

“Fuckin’ dandy.”

“Watch your language.” She looked around, her sharp gaze falling on the other two children. “I know you,” she said simply, eye drilling into Hana.

“Yes, ma’am.” While her cheeks colored in embarrassment, Hana refused to turn her gaze away.

“Hmph.” The woman stared at her impassively for a moment, before saying, “Ah, none of that ‘ma’am’ nonsense. Call me Ana.”

Hana didn’t respond, eyes wide. The most she could offer was a slight nod.

“You have met my daughter, Fareeha, already,” she said, looking down at the girl with pride in her eye. “And this is Master Torbjörn. You better give him all the respect you've got to give, because he's going to make your new limbs.”

“My what now?”

The dwarf gave an incredulous grunt. Jamie couldn't help but admire his thick blond beard, woven with intricate braids. He could hardly tear his attention away to take in the rest of the man. He wore a simple smith’s apron, but appeared to be wearing one bright red gauntlet. On closer inspection, Jamie realized it wasn't a piece of armor so much as it was an artificial limb. Much like Ana, he too was missing an eye, covered up by a crimson patch. “Good to see you picked the best and brightest to save, Amari. Well, let's see what we can do here…” 

From one of the apron’s many pockets, Torbjörn withdrew a length of measuring tape. He moved to Jamie’s side and began running the tape along his remaining arm and leg, occasionally jotting down a few numbers on a scrap of paper. Jamie stared at the metal arm that seemed to move just as well as the flesh-and-blood one.

“What are your names?” Ana asked absentmindedly, watching Torbjörn work. “I imagine ‘Junky’ can't be your real one.”

He stared her down over the dwarf’s head and said nothing. She sighed. 

“I saved your life, no questions asked. I think I am at least due for a name.”

She made a decent argument. “Jamison.”

Ana nodded, satisfied, then turned a questioning eye to the other children.

Hana spoke first, unsurprisingly. “I'm Hana. This is Lúcio. I knew you could save him. Save us. You're a hero.”

The woman grimaced. “Now where did you hear that? I'm an old lady that likes to cook. The same could be said of Mrs. Barwill down the street.”

Torbjörn chuckled at that. “If you've tried Mrs. Barwill’s spiced cider on a winter's eve, you'd call her a hero too.”

Hana didn't seem convinced.

“Hrm…” Torbjörn huffed and put his tape away. “That'll do it. It might take a while, but I'll have your new limbs made. I'm sure Angela wouldn't mind helping out with the enchantment--”

“I don't care if they're fancy-shmancy,” Jamie interrupted. “I want them fast. Can't stand layin’ about like a turnip for ages.”

The dwarf’s eye narrowed. “Have it your way, princess, but don't complain when you get a peg-leg scrapped together.” He shook his head and turned for the door, grumbling. “You owe me big for this one, Amari.”

“Understood,” she said, a hint of a smile on her face.

“How does it work?”

Ana turned to Jamie, and eyebrow raised. “Specifics, Jamison.”

He frowned and nodded to his mutilated side. “The new limbs.”

“It is an ingenious bit of magic, really. Now, I'm no mage, but from what I've learned armor can be enchanted to a person’s life force, given the right spells. A very talented witch lives nearby who knows the rituals.” Ana shifted in place, eye roaming around her shop. “It is unbelievably complex and so much can go wrong… but I believe it can do so much good as well. There was a boy some years ago… No one thought he would make it, there was barely anything left of him. But this witch, she gave him new life.” She heaved another long sigh. “Last I heard, the boy was planning on taking up mercenary work. A waste, if you ask me, but I'm not his mother.” She fixed him with her sharp stare once more. “Speaking of which, where are your parents?” She looked between the three children. “You're not related, I can tell that much. Orphans?” The frankness of her words was disconcerting. 

Hana and Lúcio nodded, casting their eyes downward. Jamie squirmed awkwardly, a gesture not missed by Ana.

“Not so, hm, Jamison?” Her face was kept neutral as she watched him. “What clan are you from?”

He flinched, years of pressure and disappointment resurfacing in his mind. “I'm not part of any stupid clan,” he grumbled, long ears heating up.

“I see.” Her expression betrayed no emotion. 

No matter what happened, when Jamie looked at that woman, the only thing he could see was that vial shattering against the ground, calling up the most beautiful flames. She said so herself, she was no mage, and yet…

“Can you teach me?” he blurted, finally catching her by surprise. 

“What?” Ana wasn't the only one taken aback by his sudden exclamation. Fareeha blinked at him curiously, and the other children simply gaped.

“Alchemy. I don't wanna be a street rat no more.” His words were tinged with desperation, and he let his next thought go unsaid: ‘ _I want to bottle an explosion_.’

Ana collected herself quickly. “This is not a trade that comes easily,” she said. “Not to mention the constant risk of something blowing up in your face.”

He could barely suppress a dreamy giggle at the thought. “I'll be on me best behavior,” he promised. “I'm a quick learner.”

Ana scrutinized him for a long moment. Elves were known to have wisdom beyond their years, and she wasn't getting any younger. It was only a matter of time before Fareeha left for her own adventures, and an apprentice could come in handy…

“Very well.” Her words seemed to shock everyone in the room, most of all Jamie. She smiled wryly and said, “I will teach you as much as you are willing to learn. You follow my orders and live by my rules, and we will have no problem. Your training starts as soon as you have four limbs again.”

\--

There were very few things in the world that scared Jamison Fawkes. Rejection, starvation, exploitation. Over the years he experienced them all. Over the years he learned to avoid them by any means possible.

How was he supposed to avoid a giant hook-wielding maniac?

“This is not your valley.” The voice shook Jamie to his core. It was deep, resounding, and full of anger. “Leave now, and you may keep your life.”

“Wait, wait, _wait_. Hold on a tick.” Jamie scooted as far away from that hook as he could, until his back hit a tree. Something told him he _should_ be scared here, but… “If it ain’t mine, then whose is it anyway?”

Probably not the right question to ask. The figure before him drew up to its full, imposing height. “ _Mine_ ,” the voice boomed.

“Oh yeah?” _You’re pushing your luck, Jamie_. “Well, I don’t see your name on it.”

Definitely the wrong thing to say. A huge hand shot out and grabbed Jamie by the neck. He hardly managed to get out a squeak of surprise before he felt all the air leave his lungs. He scratched weakly at the thick fingers wrapped tight around his windpipe before the strength to do even that failed him. Panic was beginning to seize him, along with the realization that his big mouth was going to be his doom after all, when all of a sudden the stranger loosened its grip. Instead of outright killing Jamie, the giant slung him over its shoulder and began lumbering off through the trees. Jamie stared at the mushrooms that had fallen to the dirt as he was carried off.

“Heh, I, uh, normally you’d buy me dinner before I let you manhandle me like this,” he said, hoping his jokes might diffuse some of the deathly tension lingering in the air. It did not. “And _never_ on the first date. I’m classy, thank you very much.” As they passed through a clearing in the forest, moonlight fell upon them, and that was when Jamie noticed something very peculiar.

Staring at his captor’s wide back, he realized the skin wasn’t quite smooth like his was. It had an almost bark-like quality to it. And was that a _flower_ growing on it?

“Oh, this can’t be happening,” he said in disbelief, more to himself than whoever was carrying him. Suddenly, Jamie began to suspect the previous owner, Whoever-The-Fuck, didn’t break his leg in a drunken fall.

After what seemed like hours of walking (which Jamie reasoned couldn’t be true due to the actual size of the valley), his captor threw him carelessly to the ground. Luckily, the lush moss of the forest softened the fall, and Jamie figured he’d only have a few bruises in the morning, if he survived that long. Wincing, he finally was able to get a look at the stranger’s face.

What he saw left him breathless.

Every inch of this creature’s body screamed “powerful”; thickly muscled arms like massive trunks lined either side of its large stomach, the skin just as dark and rough-looking as an old oak tree. What he initially took for its face actually appeared to be a mask, intricately carved with a fearsome grimace. Behind the mask, long hair the color of spring grass fell down across broad shoulders.

“Whoa…” Jamie couldn’t help but stare. He had heard many stories, having grown up among druids, but never did he think he’d ever actually see a dryad. “Well, hello there, ya gorgeous fuckin’ tree-man.”

The dryad didn’t deign to offer a response to that, instead pointing over Jamie’s head with its hook. Following the gesture, Jamie found a giant hollow stump behind him, its bark covered with blooms and shrooms of every color imaginable. Even without the magical talent of his family name, Jamison could tell there was something mystical about this stump. It practically smelled of raw magic. And pollen.

“I have staked my claim on this land,” the dryad growled, taking a menacing step towards Jamie. “I have let you linger here for far too long already. I will no longer allow mortals to leave their stench upon this valley like a plague. Go, and never return.”

The finality in its tone quelled any desire left in Jamie for small talk. Sure, he was stupidly brave (or perhaps bravely stupid), but even he had his limits. Scrambling to his feet, he began hobbling out of the forest, casting the dryad one last look. He subsequently tripped over a root as he wasn’t watching where he was going, but that mattered little to him. He didn’t stop running until he reached the cave that would take him back into his basement laboratory.

The potion he was concocting remained woefully incomplete, but again his worries fell on bigger things. He dashed around the lab, grabbing up his cloak and trusty pack. Slinging both on haphazardly, he made sure his coin-purse had a decent sum of gold in it. Satisfied with his funds, he rushed up the ladder and pushed his way into the cabin. And as he ran out the door, a crazed grin spread across his face. He wasn’t obediently complying to that dryad’s threats. He wasn’t running away like a scared little rat. Oh, no.

He was taking back what was his. He just needed some backup.

\--

Mercenary work, while never boring, was an uncertain means of survival. Solo work was dangerous and more likely than not to end with a bad deal. Pledging oneself to a merc captain was often no better than willingly becoming a slave. Dying to some horrible monster alone in the wilderness was always an option.

But a guild? Hanzo Shimada never trusted guilds.

In his mind, he’d always prefer a ruthless captain or managing jobs himself, because at least that way he’d know exactly what to expect. Guilds were pretty little puppet shows, and he could never tell who was pulling the strings. He shuddered to think what he would be selling himself into if he ever entered one.

That was why it came as such a shock when he received a letter from the brother he had long thought was dead, urging Hanzo to join him in guild called “Overwatch”. When Hanzo saw the name, he did a double-take; he had heard of this guild, many years ago, but it had long since disappeared. The men and women who had once been a part of it were like fabled heroes of old, despite the guild only vanishing a couple decades ago.

Perhaps the greater shock than receiving the letter was the revelation that Hanzo was tempted to join. He had not seen his brother in so long, but another reason that convinced him to go was a much more selfish one.

He hadn’t had a decent job in weeks and was on the brink of poverty.

So, swallowing his considerable pride, Hanzo had set out for the Overwatch Guild base, where his brother Genji welcomed him with open arms. The reunion was not exactly a warm and fuzzy one; the sight of his brother, more armor than man, told Hanzo that not all was right between the two of them. Yet he persisted, and after a few months spent with Overwatch, he was finally getting used to the place.

Almost.

A long, loud whistle startled Hanzo from his concentration, almost knocking his arrow off-course. He managed to save it at the last second, and the arrowhead sunk into the training dummy’s chest, right where its heart would have been.

“Damn good shot, Shimada,” a voice all-too-familiar drawled behind him. He took a deep, steadying breath; in order to muster the strength for the coming conversation, he needed to be calm. He turned, fixing a practiced scowl upon his face.

“What do you want, McCree?” He eyed his fellow guild member with no small measure of disdain. Everything about him seemed to be a personal affront to Hanzo: his outrageous hat, wild hair, perfectly chiseled features… but none so much as the weapon slung across his back. A crossbow. ‘Peacekeeper’. To an expert archer who trained for _decades_ to reach his skill level like Hanzo, a crossbow could only be seen as compensation for a lazy man lacking discipline, a phrase that seemed to sum up Jesse McCree perfectly, rugged good looks be damned.

“Hey now, darlin’, no need for all that hostility,” he said easily, holding up his hands in surrender. The metal of his left arm caught the light as it moved. Hanzo grimaced; this man and his _pet names_. “Your brother wanted me to come ‘n get you. Said a job just came in, should be easy as pie.”

Hanzo narrowed his eyes. “If it seems to be so easy, why can Genji not deal with it himself?”

McCree scratched idly at his stubble, shrugging. “Dunno. ‘Parently the client wanted several mercs with him. He’s willin’ to pay good coin for it, too. Genji figured it could be a job for the three of us.”

“The _three_ of us?”

“Yeah.” McCree grinned. “We’d make a good team, Shimada, and you know it.” He received a frustrated grunt in response, which honestly was more than he usually got for all his teasing. Hanzo shouldered his bow and stalked past him, not even sparing him a glance.

“Very well. The pay better be worth it.” He paused, before casting his glare back to McCree, who was watching him closely. Feeling the telltale signs of a flush starting to form on his high cheeks, Hanzo quickly asked, “What _is_ this job, anyway?”

“Yeah, about that…” McCree gave a laugh that was tinged with confusion. “Well, you’ll see for yourself. C’mon, they’re waitin’ for us.” With that ominous statement, he brushed past the archer, who bristled partly at the mysterious response, partly at the brief contact between them.

This didn’t bode well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, I hope you're enjoying it so far! Feel free to message me if you'd like. My Tumblr is also "thegrumpydockworker", you can find me there. This is proving to be a lot of fun to write!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamison makes some new friends that might have ties to his past, particularly to a certain woman. His quest to kill a tree continues.

Walking into the Overwatch guild hall was like walking into a dream. The place didn't seem to be real. All polished wood and fancy tapestries… everything about it screamed “we sleep on solid gold sheets.”

For a man living in a half-rotted cabin whose last tenant was a dead guy, the whole aesthetic was just too posh. That, and solid gold sheets didn't sound all that comfortable. 

Jamie stood, floored by the grandeur of the guild, hardly noticing the fact that he was being watched until it practically hit him over the head.

“Can I help you, uh… sir?”

He jumped, eyes darting around wildly to find the source of the voice. It had an odd, hollow cadence to it, like it was echoing up from a deep, empty well. Worst of all, it referred to him as “sir”. Who in their right mind would call him “sir”?

And then he found the source of those words, and he swore his jaw might have hit the floor.

Standing in front of some sort of bulletin board, glowing with a faint green aura Jamie recognized all too quickly, was a living suit of armor. Sleek silver plates seemed to move with the same ease that actual flesh might have, bending and stretching as if it were nothing more than peculiarly shiny skin. The helmet betrayed no expression, but Jamie knew curiosity well enough to understand what this tin-man might be thinking.

Jamie subconsciously rubbed his right arm, allowing his body heat to meld with the cool metal. His arm had stopped glowing years ago, but he couldn’t so easily forget the magic that brought it to life. He’d heard this story before, but it had always been just that: a story. Some anecdote that was relevant but impersonal. Never did he think he’d actually meet the boy without a body.

Never did he think he’d actually meet Genji Shimada.

\--

“No, no, Jamison. That is unacceptable. I said _orchid_ , not plum.”

Jamie glared into the bubbling pot, just barely restraining himself from tearing out his hair. “Who gives a rat’s arse what shade of purple it is,” he muttered, crossing his arms over his chest. He hadn’t quite grown accustomed to his new limbs, but they seemed to work fine. His main complaint was the glow; ever since that witch had enchanted them, his arm and leg emitted a soft, mystical light. He hated it. Miss Angela, however, assured him it would fade in time, as the enchantment was a fairly simple one for just a couple of limbs. The bigger the enchantment, the bigger the glow.

Ana Amari, his teacher and the woman who saved his life, frowned and put her hands on her hips. “I do,” she said, “and so would the sorry soul unlucky enough to buy this slag. Look here.” She lifted a vial of her own product: perfectly smooth and just the right shade of violet (though Jamie still couldn’t tell the difference). “Tell me exactly what you did.”

Suppressing an annoyed sigh, Jamie thought hard, screwing his eyes shut in concentration. “First, I added--”

“Wrong,” Ana cut in immediately.

“I didn’t even say nothing!” he cried, dismayed. He whipped his head around at the sound of a snort, scowling at the source of it.

Hana was leaning against the counter, hand covering her mouth as she watched them. “Good work, Junky,” she said, tone dripping with sarcasm. “Very nicely done.”

“Don’t you have work to do?” he spat back.

She shrugged and gestured to the empty shop. “It’s been a slow day,” she responded indifferently.

Ana’s eye glinted mischievously. “If you’re so bored, perhaps you’d care to lend a hand,” she said, the ghost of a laugh in her words. “Maybe a demonstration would get the point through Jamison’s thick skull.”

Hana’s teasing attitude vanished in a second, replaced by fear. Before she could stammer out a single excuse, Ana was by her side and leading her to the workbench.

“Sit,” the woman commanded, pulling out a chair. Hana did, gulping nervously. Ana placed her own creation before the girl, much to Hana’s relief. “Drink.”

She did. Nothing happened.

“I-I don’t feel any different,” Hana said, confused, as Ana rummaged around in the many pockets of her cloak. “What’s supposed to-- _EEK_!” Hana’s words ended in a startled shriek as Ana spun around and pressed a lit match to her cheek. After a moment, her panic turned to wonder as the fire appeared to be repelled by her skin.

“A favorite of blacksmiths and dragon hunters alike,” Ana said with a smile, “when brewed correctly, this concoction will increase the consumer’s flame resistance a thousandfold. Very useful, and it brings in a good deal of coin from people who have been burned one too many times. However, I’m sure you can imagine how disastrous it would be if the people in these dangerous professions happened to purchase a botched batch. It’s bad for business when all your customers get burnt to a crisp.” Grabbing a clean vial, she scooped up some of Jamie’s brew. She held it out to Hana, who scooted back in her chair.

“I’m not touching that,” she protested, shaking her head furiously.

“Do not worry,” Ana reassured, her tone low and motherly. “This is a very simple potion, with no inherently dangerous ingredients. I am fairly certain I know where Jamison went astray, and I promise no harm will come to you. Here.” She took a sip herself. Nothing.

Slightly less dubious, Hana took the vial and downed the rest of it. Again, nothing seemed to happen… until, suddenly, her long dark hair turned a bright, violent orange.

Jamie could hardly control his cackling.

“What? What happened?” she demanded, looking between her howling friend and smiling guardian. Ana winked (or was it a blink?) and pulled her hood back a bit to reveal that her formerly white hair now sported the same fiery color. Hana’s eyes rolled up to look at her own bangs, and the girl squawked in horror.

“Oh, Luce is gonna _love_ this,” Jamie said with a vicious grin, reaching out to ruffle her outrageously-colored locks. Lúcio, being the oldest of the three (though not by much), was given more tasks than the other two. Ana agreed to let them live under her roof as long as they were willing to help her out. Lúcio was the fastest and strongest physically, so he ran errands and carried messages for Ana. Jamie became Ana’s apprentice, and Hana, ever charismatic, ran the shop. Lúcio was often out of the house for hours at a time, a fact that Jamie knew greatly saddened Hana.

The girl gasped, her eyes wide in horror. “No!” she squealed, clutching at her hair. “He’d _never_ let me forget this! How long until it wears off?!”

Ana shrugged, returning her hood to its proper place. “Who knows,” she responded flippantly, before turning back to Jamie. He grinned up at her, completely forgetting his earlier frustration. “I believe the problem here was in the set-up,” she explained, effortlessly bringing him back to the lesson. “You’re very clever, Jamison, there is no question of your intelligence here, but patience is just as important as brains in alchemy. You made no mistake while brewing the potion, but you had doomed yourself from the start.” Her lips twisted in a wry smile. “Can you tell me why that is?”

Immediately, he knew. Embarrassed, he mumbled, “I only let the fire burn for five minutes before I started, not ten.” At the time, he hadn’t thought it was a big deal.

Ana nodded approvingly. “Precisely. Very good. The difference between alchemy and baking a pie is that every step matters. You have the ingredients in roughly the right amounts, and I’m sure the pie will turn out just fine. One little mistake here, on the other hand, is all the difference between getting turned into a human torch or not. Alchemy is an exact art.” She gave him a pat on the head, much to his surprise. “Good work, Jamison. I am proud of you.”

He stared at her, bewildered. “But… I mucked it all up.”

“You did,” she conceded easily. “Though I am sure plenty of women my age would kill for such an effective hair dye.” Beside them, Hana gave a muffled groan as she cradled her face in her hands, her hair spilling over her fingers like flames. Ana sent a sympathetic look her way before continuing, “You’re a clever boy, Jamison, but no one exits the womb ready to brew the elixir of life. Mistakes show you are trying, and eventually you won’t make those mistakes anymore. Soon, that creative mind of yours will get the chance to experiment on your own, when you are experienced enough to handle it.”

“Unless one of those mistakes ends up killing me,” he said, meaning it as a joke. Ana did not laugh.

“Hm.” She regarded him seriously for a moment. Even Hana peeked through her fingers at the sudden silence, curiosity outweighing her shame. “In which case, we’d be calling on Miss Angela again. It wouldn’t be the first time she brought some poor, brash boy back from death’s grasp. Though I pray you never fall to the same situation as Genji Shimada.” A profound sadness swept across her lined face, a look that made Jamie want to ask a billion questions. “Sometimes, you must wonder if there are things worse than death.”

“Ah, my dear Ana, always so dour! And here I was hoping to see that lovely smile of yours.”

Ana’s words had them so entranced, they did not notice the door open. It wasn’t until a deep, booming voice rang through the shop that they realized they had company. And at those words, Ana did something Jamie never expected her to do: she blushed.

“Reinhardt!” She stood so fast, she almost sent Jamie’s failed potion flying. “How long has it been, my friend?”

“Too long.” When Jamie caught sight of this ‘Reinhardt’, he understood immediately what had flustered Ana so. The man standing in the doorway was nothing short of huge. He barely seemed to fit, in the room or just in general, towering above everyone else. The shining armor he wore filled up the space, and Jamie was certain that the metal must have been held up by bulging muscles. The man wasn’t wearing a helmet, which revealed him to be somewhere around Ana’s age, likely older. Regardless of his advanced years, he was wickedly handsome; behind a thicket of white facial hair, Reinhardt was grinning a sort of boyish excitement that made _Jamie_ feel old. He glanced between the two kids sitting beside Ana, a brow raised. “Perhaps longer than I thought, if these…” He trailed off curiously.

Ana caught on quickly. “Oh, gods, no, Reinhardt. Fareeha was enough for one lifetime. These are my friends and colleagues, Hana and Jamison.”

“As intergenerational as ever,” Reinhardt chuckled. “A pleasure to meet you two. I imagine this is another one of your friends and colleagues?”

From behind the giant of a man, Lúcio squeezed by into the house, absolutely dwarfed by comparison. He gave a small smile to his friends which turned into a mask of confusion when he saw Hana’s hair. She only offered a grimace in return. Slung across Lúcio’s shoulders was a simple canvas pack, which told Jamie that he must have been to the market for Ana that day. It was with a bit of a shock that he noticed an ugly bruise swelling around Lúcio’s right eye.

“He is, indeed,” Ana said, a frown taking over her expression as she too noticed the bruise. “What happened to you, Lúcio?”

He shrugged weakly, pulling the bag’s strap over his head. He began to unpack it on the counter, producing bundles of various herbs and vegetables. Slowly, he answered, “I got recognized on the way home. Some guys from the old gang.”

Jamie’s heart sank at those words.

“They weren’t exactly sure what happened to Father and the others, but they figured I had something to do with it.” His voice was remarkably calm as he spoke, but his hands were shaking. “Made sense, after all. Father’s dead, I’m not. So, they wanted a little payback.”

“I was in town for the day,” Reinhardt said, “and I heard the commotion. I wasn’t expecting Lúcio here to be working for you. Just the woman I was looking for.”

A steely glint flashed through Ana’s eye. “Ah. I suppose this is not a casual visit, then.”

Reinhardt inclined his head as if to apologize. “I am afraid not.”

She sighed. “Did Winston send you?”

“Unfortunately,” he answered with a wry smile. “You know how much he values you, Ana.”

“How much he _valued_ me,” she corrected tersely. “It’s been ten years, my friend. I have other obligations now.”

Reinhardt looked at each of the children in turn. “So it seems,” he conceded. He looked exhausted. “Overwatch would welcome you back like the hero you are.”

“ _Were_. I’m an old lady now. I am sorry, Reinhardt, but I refuse to live in the past. Not when I could be guiding the heroes of the future.” Her words were firm and her jaw was set. Jamie marveled at her as if seeing the woman clearly for the first time. “Winston is no fool. Surely he does not believe that after ten years of _nothing_ , we’d all drop everything to play mercenary again--”

“Lena arrived almost immediately. Jesse is back. As is Genji.” Reinhardt observed her for a long moment. “It is something to consider, my dear. I would cherish the chance to fight by your side once more.” He nodded respectfully and made to back out the door.

“Leaving already?” Ana’s voice was tinged with a wistful reluctance. Jamie wondered how hard this was for her.

He managed a rueful smile. “I fear I may never leave if I look upon your lovely face any longer. But I am certain we will meet again. I will make sure of that.”

When Reinhardt left, the room felt colder, empty. Jamie couldn’t help but feel a bit jealous of Ana. The love that man held for her was nothing to laugh at, a fact that only made her refusal all the more important to him. She had sacrificed something beautiful for three kids she barely knew.

A long silence hung over their shoulders like smog.

“So…” Lúcio finally broke it. “What’s the story behind your hair?”

Hana groaned and ran out of the room, followed by a laughing Lúcio. Jamie and Ana were left behind.

His curiosity getting the better of him, Jamie asked, “You were a merc?”

She shot him a glare, but there was no heat behind it. She just looked tired. “I was,” she said shortly, taking her seat again. “I was something like the company’s healer, but my talents were not limited to saving lives.”

Jamie thought of the firebomb she threw at his old gang. This confession came as no shock.

“We killed a lot of people. I killed a lot of people. We were told they were bad men. We were called heroes. We were showered with gold.” She wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Bad things happened. The guild, Overwatch, was shut down. More people were killed.”

The muffled sound of Hana and Lúcio laughing together couldn’t quite reach them.

“‘Heroes never die’. You know who told me that?” Her sharp eye locked onto him, drilling hard into his skull. He thought to make a joke, but he words died on his tongue. He shook his head. “Miss Angela. The witch. I watched her bring a shattered boy back from death, but now he’s more armor than man. A living weapon.”

Jamie’s mouth twisted. “Back when we first met,” he said slowly, “you mentioned that boy. Said he was planning on taking up mercenary work, and that it was a waste. You knew him, didn’t you? You called him Genji… You knew him. Didn’t you? You _worked_ with him.”

“I did. I don’t relish my days with that guild, can’t you understand?” He recoiled. He had never heard her speak with such venom in her tone. She paused, taking a deep breath. When she continued, her voice was perfectly controlled, almost emotionless. “Did you know, there are mages that dedicate their craft to enchantment? Much like Miss Angela did with your arm and leg. However, these mages have enchanted golems, statues, entire suits of armor to live and think. This is… controversial magic.”

That tickled his memory slightly. This particular magical practice came to a boil when he was very young. Vague memories of his clan dabbling with these enchantments surfaced. Just another reason to resent them, messing with forces they could barely understand. “I’ve… heard of this before,” he admitted.

“Magic is often mistrusted. Beings _born_ of magic?” She shook her head. “Doubly so. I cannot say who is right and who is wrong in conflicts such as this one. Sometimes you just have to act, even if you don’t know the outcome. That boy, Genji Shimada… He is the outcome of such actions. His life is a cursed one.”

Jamie’s heart drummed loudly in his ears. He had been staying with the Amaris for a while now, but he felt he was just beginning to understand Ana.

“Enough of this depressing talk,” she said finally. “You are here to learn alchemy, not listen to an old woman ramble. Let us fix something for Lúcio’s eye, then make another attempt on this potion.”

She managed to return to the lesson, but Jamie’s mind was working furiously on other matters. She had said so much, and he was intent on filing away every word. The rest of the evening passed without incident, but the warmth and humor had gone from the house.

The next time he attempted the the fire resistance tonic, Jamie brewed it flawlessly.

\--

“Can I help you, uh… sir?”

It took a moment, but Jamison eventually found his tongue.

“You’re not… Can’t be…” He giggled nervously. “Are you… Genji Shimada?”

If he was surprised, he didn’t show it. “I am. You are…?”

“Jamison. Jamison Fawkes. I have a job for--”

Genji silenced him with a raised hand. “I’m sorry, but Overwatch doesn’t work like other guilds. We seek out jobs worth our time and effort, people don’t come to hire us.” He tilted his head curiously. “How did you even get here? The guild hall isn’t exactly advertised to the public.”

Jamie tapped his foot impatiently. “I trained under Ana Amari, she told me--”

“You knew Miss Amari?” _Now_ he seemed interested.

Annoyed at the constant interruptions, Jamie scowled at him. “Yeah, that’s what I just fuckin’ said. Now will you listen to me?” Feeling dramatic, he pulled the fat coin-purse from his cloak and shook it slightly. “I’ve got money. I need a couple of your finest mercs to help me kill a tree.”

Genji looked between Jamie and the purse for a moment. His lack of emotional cues was unsettling, but Jamie was confident in the persuasive power of gold. After a long stretch of silence, a chuckle rose out of the helmet.

“Very well. My blade is yours, Jamison Fawkes. I have a couple other mercenaries in mind, too… And here one is now. Jesse!”

Jamie’s head swivelled to follow Genji’s line of sight, and it was a miracle he didn’t start drooling on the spot.

This Jesse bloke was _fit_. There was no other way Jamie could describe him. ‘Impossibly fuckable’ was admittedly a good follow-up. He nearly fell over as the man approached, an easy smile playing on his lips.

“Howdy Genji, what can I do ya for?” His voice was deep and rich, and his eyes were dark and lidded, and oh gods he was looking at Jamie. His nose scrunched up in amusement at Jamie’s slack-jawed expression, and even _that_ was hot; it made the faded freckles dance across his skin. “You, uh, doin’ all right there?”

“What? Yeah. Yes.” Jamie blinked rapidly, trying not to act like a smitten child. Jesse didn’t seem convinced.

“This is Jamison Fawkes,” Genji mercifully took over, glancing impassively at Jamie. “He was Miss Amari’s apprentice, and he has a job for us.”

Jesse’s eyebrows shot up at the mention of Ana. “That so.” He fixed Jamie with an unreadable stare. “And just what is this job?”

“Gardening,” Genji responded dryly.

“What now.”

“Well, close enough.” Jamie grinned. “I’ve got a bit of a problem with my property. I’m an alchemist, so I like a bit of seclusion in nature, all that rubbish. Only trouble is, there’s this pest lumbering about my land, calling it his own. I’m sure you can figure out what comes next.”

“Peaceful resolution?” Jesse suggested, crossing his arms. Jamie noted one was metal. “What exactly is this ‘pest’, anyhow? If it’s a dragon, then you ain’t payin’ us nearly enough.”

“Good fuckin’ grief, man, I’m not _that_ stupid.” If there was a giant, fire-breathing lizard on his property, he’d never want to leave its presence, let alone kill the glorious thing. “It’s a dryad. Tree spirit. Bloody big one, too. Doesn’t like me much. But I ain’t letting some stump run me outta my own home. Now, I’m sure just one dryad won’t be too bad to deal with, but I want backup, to be safe. That’s you. You make sure I survive and we take care of my weed infestation, you get paid.” In his sudden desire to impress Jesse, he added, “In gold and in as many potions as you can carry.”

The two mercenaries exchanged looks. “Not a bad deal,” said Jesse. “Could be interestin’.”

Genji hummed in agreement. “It could. Go get Hanzo. Tell him we have a job.”

Jamie was no expert on social interactions, but even he noticed the way Jesse’s face lit up at the mention of this ‘Hanzo’ person. Ah, well, that wasn’t surprising. The good ones were always taken. Didn’t mean it wasn’t disappointing.

“Right away,” Jesse said, turning on his heel and disappearing through the way he came.

In the ensuing quiet, Jamie looked at the board Genji had been staring at earlier. Various notes and papers were tacked to it, each bearing a name, a description, and a reward. Some were jobs like his, ranging from heavy lifting to slaying some terrifying beast. Others were wanted posters. A quick scan told him, to his relief, there were no bounties on him here. Genji watched him carefully as he read a few of the posts.

“You knew my name.” Genji’s sudden, soft words made Jamie jump. “Did Miss Amari talk about me?”

“Yeah.” He shifted from foot to foot; it had been a while since he’d had an actual conversation with another person, and this was starting to wear on him. He couldn’t bear just standing still for so long. “Not often. She didn’t talk about Overwatch much.”

“I do not doubt that.” He paused. “She meant a lot to Jesse. She mentored him for some years. Not in alchemy,” he added quickly when he caught the incredulous look on Jamie’s face. “Aside from her talents in potions, Miss Amari was quite the archer. She was a terror in war, whether she dealt arrows, poison, or fire.”

It was incredibly odd to hear about Ana like that. For years, Jamie thought he knew her… and all of a sudden that notion was shattered with a few words. An archer? He’d never so much as _seen_ a bow in her house.

The dull clunk of boots heralded the return of Jesse, only he wasn’t alone. A man Jamie could only assume was Hanzo trailed behind, expression reminiscent of someone sucking on a lemon.

“Brother,” he started gruffly, eyes on Genji. “I will assume that you can tell me what is going on. This fool refused to say more than cryptic phrases and half-sentences.” He jerked his head in Jesse’s direction, then frowned as his eyes landed on Jamie. “Who are you?”

Jamie scoffed. “You always look like you just smelled baked troll shite? The name’s Jamison Fawkes, prodigy of Ana Amari.” He let his words linger impressively.

Hanzo stared at him blankly. “I don’t know who that is,” he said, voice flat.

“Ah.” Jamie frowned, then shrugged. “Eh, two outta three ain’t bad. Don’t you worry about it, my friend, just know that I am the man that’ll hand you a nice, big sack of gold.”

“He’s our client,” Genji said. “He’s got a dryad he needs help getting rid of. Are you in?”

“Is there any point in saying ‘no’?”

“No, there is not.” Genji faced Jamie and bobbed his head. If his face could be seen, Jamie imagined he’d be smiling. “Lead the way, Boss.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For a brief clarification on the timeline of events, Junkrat's flashbacks take place ten years before the present, and ten years after the fall of the original Overwatch. Jamie and Lúcio are both about fifteen when Ana took them in, and Hana was around ten or eleven. Fareeha is late teens, early twenties. It doesn't really stick strictly to the game's canon, but then again the canon isn't exactly crystal clear anyhow.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plan unfolds, and tensions mount in the group. Jamison has certain hopes for the night, but he was never known for his luck.

Despite his lack of real magic, Jamie was fairly convinced he had powers entirely unique to himself.

For example, the ability to function with a completely blank mind. When something demanded he leave the comfort of his home, be it a supply run or just a walk in the woods, he simply shut off his brain, got to walking, and ended up where he needed to go. It had come in handy many times before, when he didn’t want to be bothered with the burden of thinking.

Of course, with three strange, dangerous men following behind, he was unfortunately forced to use his brain on the way back to his home.

Jamie’s cabin wasn’t easy to find for the common man. Tucked against some mountains deep in an ancient forest, the place didn’t exactly attract visitors. That worked just fine for Jamie, as he seemed to be the only person alive who could navigate to that decrepit old house. The idea of bringing three strangers to his sanctuary actually pained him, but nothing could be done about that. He needed that dryad off his land. A bit of pain was a fair tradeoff in exchange for not getting brutally murdered by a tree.

“Ya sure do take this ‘reclusive hermit’ stuff seriously,” one of the mercs, Jesse, huffed after a few hours of trekking through thick undergrowth. The late afternoon sun could barely send its rays through the canopy of leaves above.

“Do you actually know where you’re going, or are we simply wandering in circles?” The archer, Hanzo, scowled as he nearly tripped over a root for the umpteenth time.

“Calm your tit, beardy,” Jamie shot back, glancing meaningfully at Hanzo’s partially-bared chest. “I know what I’m doing. We’re here, anyway.”

The three mercenaries seemed surprised at this.

“Really?” Genji peered around Jamie, basking in the glory of his hidden utopia. “...This place is a hovel.”

“I know,” Jamie sighed happily. “Ain’t it a beaut?”

The only response was a disgusted scoff from Hanzo.

“So… where’s this tree spirit? I figured we’d be a bit stealthier on approach.” Jesse glanced at the nearby shrubs as if expecting a dryad to pop out of one.

Jamie waved his suspicions aside carelessly. “Don’t you worry about that yet, mate,” he said in a lofty tone. “You haven’t even seen the jewel of the property.” Striding forward, he produced a rusted key from his belt and unlocked the door. Ever a gentleman, he held it open for Genji and Jesse, then ‘accidentally’ let it slam shut in Hanzo’s face. Admittedly, he enjoyed the angry flush of the archer’s face when he threw the door open again.

“Nice… place ya got here,” Jesse said, uncertainty written across his face as he took in the cramped room.

“It’s a shit-hole,” Jamie responded cheerfully, marching over to the fireplace. The mercs watched curiously as he pried up the hidden hatch. “But more importantly, it’s a cover. Follow me, gents.” With a wink, he disappeared down through the trapdoor.

He had already lit most of the candles by the time Genji, Jesse, and Hanzo had climbed into the cellar. It was worth the hustle to see their surprised reactions.

“Welcome to my secret laboratory,” he announced, arms wide and smirk triumphant. He didn’t get to show off his lab often. Or ever. So, he felt he was due some dramatics for his big moment.

The mercs were speechless for a moment.

“What is that?” Genji finally spoke, gesturing to the potion Jamie had abandoned for his current quest. It had since congealed and reeked a foul odor.

“Is that a dead guy?” Jesse stared incredulously at Whoever-The-Fuck’s corpse in the corner. Jamie still hadn’t decided what to do with him, so he had been left there for quite a while. When he started to stink up the cellar, Jamie whipped up a quick preserving agent to stop him from rotting too bad. This made it much easier to completely ignore the body.

“This place smells,” Hanzo grumbled, nose wrinkling in disdain.

“All right, all right, you ungrateful sods, pipe down. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity, and you’re bitching about my sanitation habits.” Jamie turned to one of the huge vats that lined the wall and grabbed a goblet. “I was gonna offer you fuckers the best wine in the whole damned world, too.”

That got Jesse's attention. “I _have_ been awfully thirsty,” he admitted, staring as Jamie filled his cup with a deep red liquid.

“Me too,” Jamie muttered to himself, before turning to the mercs. He heaved a dramatic sigh and said, “Fine, help yourselves.”

“I shall pass,” Hanzo said pointedly. 

“As will I.” Genji gestured to his helmet.

“More for me, then,” Jesse laughed, moving up to the vat. Jamie handed him a goblet with a grin. “Not much of a wine drinker, but I'll take what I can get.” He sniffed at his glass after filling it, then downed the whole thing. “Hot damn, that is actually fantastic. You sure you don't want some, Shimada?”

Hanzo narrowed his eyes. “I am sure.”

“Fuck it, I'm gonna get wine-drunk, then. Here's to you, Mr. Fawkes.” He raised his glass in a toast, and promptly refilled it. 

“Irresponsible,” Hanzo muttered, earning a laugh from Genji.

“I would do the same if I could, Brother,” he said, folding his arms.

“You are irresponsible as well,” Hanzo shot back. “This is not a new development.”

Genji shrugged, unperturbed by the accusation. “You are the one that carries a saké gourd with you at all times.”

Hanzo’s scowl was fixed as one hand hovered over the gourd defensively, seemingly on reflex. Jamie wondered if it was a common point of argument. “Never drink anything unless personally prepared. That is not irresponsible, that is common sense.”

His brother appeared unimpressed. “So, you are only capable of preparing saké?”

Hanzo didn't seem to have an answer for that, and settled for a mutinous glare instead. 

“Well, have a seat,” Jamie drawled, cutting into the uncomfortable silence. He waved a hand at the random assortment of chairs around the basement. “Rest your feet. We should probably make some sort of game plan here. I wouldn't normally say that, but this is my land and I don't want it half-destroyed. So we need a hint of subtlety here.” Ana used to say that when he kept messing up a potion: ‘ _We need a hint of subtlety here._ ’ He noticed a tiny frown crease Jesse's brow at that.

“Aren't elves supposed to be in-tune with nature?” Hanzo asked skeptically, eyeing Jamie's long ears. “Just tell the thing to leave.”

“You haven't seen this dryad, mate. I'd rather choke down a poison oak salad than try to tell that brute to bugger off.” He shook his head. “Yeah, nah, no reasoning with him, pointy ears or not. Murder definitely seems the best option here.”

“How does one kill a dryad?” Genji asked, hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

“Uh…” Jamie came from a clan of druids. The bastards were more concerned with hugging trees than killing them. “Not a bloody clue. Figure he’ll die if you stick him with sharp things enough times, same as anything else. Hey, you lot are the professional killers here, not me.” He giggled. “It’s just a hobby for me.”

Jesse let out a loud bark of a laugh, startling even Jamie. Just how much wine had he drunk already?

“He doesn’t waste any time, does he?” Jamie said, deeply impressed.

“Apparently not.” Hanzo watched Jesse with an odd mix of emotions on his face. “So your plan is to just stab this creature several times and hope that does the trick?”

“I was thinking we should split up into two teams of two. Cover more ground that way.” Secretly, Jamie was hoping to get a bit of alone-time with Jesse. “We’ll wait until nightfall, then strike under the cover of darkness. I’ve got some traps to set up, maybe we’ll catch the bastard by his toes!” He moved towards a chest by the cot, kicking it open to reveal a few steel traps and a shortsword. Grabbing both, he turned to face the three mercs, who were staring dubiously at him. Or at least Hanzo was, he couldn’t tell with Genji, and Jesse was far too preoccupied refilling his glass.

“You wish to hunt a magical creature on its home territory,” Hanzo said slowly, “at night? I see no way this could go wrong.”

“Come on, Brother, we are professionals. Everything will be fine,” Genji said, patting his shoulder reassuringly. Beside him, Jesse nearly tripped over his own feet, wheezing out a drunken giggle. Hanzo did not look reassured.

“Well, if we are to split, then it would be wise to pair close range with long range.” Genji nodded at Jamie’s sword, barely more than a dagger. “Brother, you should stick to Jamison and watch his back. I will make sure Jesse does not pass out on the job.”

This decision appeared to outrage both Jamie and Hanzo equally. “I was not aware you were signing me up for baby-sitting duty,” Hanzo said stiffly, nostrils flaring as he pointedly ignored Jamie’s indignant, “ _Oi!_ ”

“Do not whine to me about baby-sitting,” Genji said as he steadied the very wobbly Jesse. “Do you think it wise to put the drunk one with the client?”

Hanzo scoffed. “The _client_ is the one who enabled McCree to get drunk in the first place. He should learn to take responsibility for his actions.” His words were barely more than a growl.

“You’re one to talk, Brother.”

“Why, you--!”

“All right, that’s enough, you little spitfires,” Jamie sang, inwardly reveling in the drama. “I’m paying you to kill a tree, not each other.” Hanzo visibly tensed at that. “We’ve got a little while before sundown. Try not to explode until then, yeah?”

The men agreed then to an uneasy truce. In the comfort of Jamie’s dank, oddly-scented basement, they hunkered down and waited. After a long stretch of icy silence, the two brothers gave in and eventually began conversing in some quiet, foreign tongue.

Feeling the inevitable boredom beginning to creep up his spine, Jamie moved to his workbench, absently clearing away the ruined potion. He ran one long finger along the top shelf of his ingredient cabinet, humming tunelessly as he looked at the many jars. He ended up grabbing three: one containing a fine golden dust, one full of pale pink blossoms, and the last holding a few plump berries that appeared to be nearly transparent. He set the ingredients on his work space, then ducked below to check in his glassware drawer for clean tools. He was so lost in his comfortingly familiar task, he did not notice Jesse sidling up behind him.

Pulling up a small copper pot, filter paper, and a measuring spoon, Jamie took stock of his materials once more, then promptly got to work.

In the corner of his makeshift workshop was a small fireplace, not at all like the one that concealed the lab’s entrance. Jamie had built it himself shortly after claiming the property as his own. The base was made of clay from the valley’s riverbanks and infused with a special solution designed by himself, with some help from Ana Amari. It was a modified version of the fire resistance potion she had so militantly drilled into his brain, and it left the clay with a slightly purple tint. Orchid, not plum. It formed a small pit, and on the wall were a number of little indents. A steel rod could be fitted through the indents, good for hanging pots over the fire at various heights.

Instead of using firewood or coal, Jamie filled the pit with another homemade substance: an oil Amari claimed had been originally devised by faeries. He wasn’t sure he believed her on that one, but the stuff was craftable in high quantities and undoubtedly useful. When lit, the oil slowly burned in a clean white flame that produced no smoke or harmful gas. Not quite as explosive as Jamie would have liked, but definitely helpful for an alchemist.

His custom-built fireplace kept his work clean and contained, and he lit the oil without a second thought. He’d let the little fireball burn for a bit while he prepped the rest of his concoction.

Plucking a single berry from its jar, he wrapped it in filter paper and dropped it in the copper pot. Grabbing a spare pestle, he smashed down on the berry, relishing the squish. His favorite thing about these berries was the fact that, despite their clear appearance, when crushed they exuded a bright blue juice. He happily mashed up the berry until the juice was completely separate from the pulp, which he tossed out with the filter paper. He was left with the sky blue juice gleaming up at him. He gave it a good swirl, then pulled over the jar of dust. Scooping out three spoonfuls, he added it to the juice and mixed it into a green paste. Giving it a hearty sniff, he nodded to himself and reached for the last jar. Snatching up a handful of the flowers and tossing them into the pot, he stirred up his mixture with a satisfied smile. He was in the zone.

Thus, it was to his immense surprise when a pair of arms flung about his neck from behind. His first reaction was to freeze up like a startled mouse. His next reaction would have been to unleash his full fury on this surprise attacker, but that was halted when a low voice rumbled in his ear.

“Y’know, ya don’ look th’ same when y’re doin’ this stuff.” That was unmistakably Jesse’s drawl, slurring out thickly behind him. The bitter air of alcohol was on his breath, almost overwhelming Jamie. Apparently, he was a cuddly drunk. “Y’always look like a spooked horse, like somethin’ jus’ blew up in yer face, or y’re waitin’ for it to. But jus’ now… ya looked like her.”

“Who--?” Jamie squirmed out from his grasp and faced him, twitching uncomfortably. It had been a very long time since he’d had such close interaction. Regardless of how attractive he found Jesse, that was too close, too sudden. “ _Oh_. You mean Ana, yeah?”

Jesse nodded. Over his shoulder, Jamie noticed Hanzo watching them suspiciously. Nervously, he put a bit more space between himself and Jesse. “I knew her. She was a damn good shot, but more’n that, she was sharp as a tack. Always cookin’ up something magical.”

Jamie shifted his weight from foot to peg. “Well, alchemy is more a science than magic…” On that note, he returned his attention back to his creation. Giving the past one last stir, he grabbed the pot and hung it over the fire. He set his mental clock for five minutes.

“That’s what she told me, too,” Jesse said, frowning. “Woman was magic, don’ care what she insisted. You, too.”

The tips of his ears were heating up, Jamie just knew it. Oh, gods, even when drunk Jesse knew just what to say. A natural charmer.

“Do ya miss her?” His soft tone brought Jamie back to reality. “I do. I wish… I wish I got to see her, one last time. If you were her apprentice, were ya…” He seemed to struggle with his words for a moment, though whether that was due to emotion or inebriation, Jamie could not tell. “Were ya there when it happened? Don’ mean to pry, but…”

“Yeah. I was.” Jamie didn’t elaborate past those curt few words, closing his eyes and willing himself not to fall to memories. He turned back to the pot rather than meet Jesse’s gaze. Peering in at its contents, he put out the fire and grabbed a small bottle off his shelf. Pouring a bit of the orchid substance out onto his good hand, he rubbed it vigorously into the skin then turned to pull the pot off. His hands, flesh and metal, met the curve of the pot easily, unaffected by the scorching heat. Setting the pot back onto his work bench, he grabbed a little wooden plate from a cabinet and set it down beside.

“What’s that?” Jesse asked, craning his neck to stare into the pot.

“Another little trick from our mutual friend,” Jamie answered, placing the product onto the plate. The paste had baked into a small cake, a pleasant mint green inlaid with specks of pink. The edges were slightly browned, but it didn’t seem burnt at all. Holding the plate out to Jesse, he grunted, “Here. Let it cool, then eat.”

Jesse accepted the plate, sniffed at the cake, then popped it in his mouth without any further hesitation.

“Or don’t let it cool, that works too,” Jamie amended, snickering slightly.

“What can I say? I like it hot.” His smile could melt faces off. Jamie could only manage a dreamy giggle in response.

Jesse chewed thoughtfully for another moment, then swallowed. “What’s this do, anyway?” His lack of concern either spoke to how much he trusted Jamie or exactly how drunk he was.

“Well, your archer friend there told me to take responsibility for your current state,” Jamie said, nodding towards Hanzo. “That should make you sober up real quick, and it reduces hangover effects.” He shrugged. “Probably the most useful thing Ana taught me.”

“Damn.” Jesse blinked, looking impressed. “I do feel a bit less fuzzy, now ya mention it.” He laughed, a sound like a song, not like the harsh laugh he barked out during his wine binge. “Didn’t strike me as the responsible kind, Mr. Fawkes.”

“Jamie,” he put in quickly. ‘Mr. Fawkes’ just didn’t sound right, especially coming from Jesse. “And don’t you go spreading that bullshit around, you hear? Got a reputation to uphold, yeah?”

“Right, right.” He scratched at his scruffy neck and smiled. “Well, thank ya kindly, Jamie, mighty fine thing for ya to do. S’just what Ana woulda done.”

“Yeah, well…” He was at a loss. Jamie had spent so many years locked up with nothing but the memory of Ana Amari for company. All of a sudden, here was someone who not only knew her, but wanted to talk about her with him. It seemed like it should have been easy, but he just couldn’t find the right words.

“Didn’t taste like I thought it would,” he continued, as if he hadn’t even noticed Jamie’s awkward lapse. “Not bad, though. What exactly was in it?” He gestured vaguely to the ingredients still on the bench.

Jamie perked up at that. Personal history wasn’t his strong suit, but he was always ready to talk about alchemy. “It’s a simple mix, really. Only three ingredients to it. The measurements are the key piece, as well as understanding properties.” He picked up the jar of berries. “These are clarenberries. An invasive species that thrives in the wild, in a variety of climates. Good things about clarenberries: high in nutrients, easily attainable, potent. Shite things about clarenberries: can disrupt ecosystems, highly addictive, _potent_. The juice is intoxicating without undergoing a fermentation process, so many poor sods without the fine education of yours truly use it to make cheap, quick wine.” He spoke fast and excited, happy to have someone to talk to about his favorite subject. “The stuff is toxic in high quantities. You’ll be fine, I only used one in that cake. Like I said, measurements are key here.” He paused, noticing a metal hand raised in the air. “Yes, Jesse?”

Jesse lowered his hand, brow furrowed. “If these berries are alcoholic, how d’they work to sober someone up?”

Jamie nodded approvingly. “Good question. Getting to that. Every ingredient has certain properties. In alchemy, you either work with those properties or against them. You throw a bunch of healing herbs together, you’re gonna get a healing potion. Useful if you got poisoned, sure. However, if you take that same poison and work against it, you’ll get the best possible antidote right there. Countering something specific is much more effective than using generic medicine, you understand?”

Jesse nodded slowly, his eyes moving to the other two jars: dust and blossoms. “So, one or both of those can counter alcohol,” he said, almost to himself rather than to Jamie.

“Correct. This,” he picked up the jar of dust, “is called elgeshin. It’s ground from a root grown in many elven clans, which earned it that name. ‘Elgeshin’ means ‘elf sweat’. The root is spicy and used to detoxify, so the name seemed fitting. Its properties are in direct opposition with the clarenberry’s, so we unbalance the ratio, three parts elgeshin to one part clarenberry juice.”

“And these?” Jesse picked up the blossoms.

“ _Dareth neshal e_.” It felt odd speaking elvish again, but it came back to him easily. “The flowers are the most important part of the plant. It does produce fruit, which are very sweet but lack alchemical use. The blossoms can help with headaches, cramps, nausea, and temper.”

“ _Dareth neshal e_ ,” Jesse repeated quietly. His pronunciation was atrocious. “What’s it mean?”

Jamie hoped he wouldn’t ask. “Eh, literally translated? ‘The lover’s kiss’. Headaches, temper… Nothing a lover’s kiss can’t cure.” He snorted. “Ancient elven alchemists were a buncha pretentious twats.”

Jesse, on the other hand, looked thoughtful at the name. “Interestin’. Figure they were just a li’l romantic.”

“Like you?” Jamie watched him sharply, fidgeting his hands without thinking.

“Shoot, ya say that like it’s an accusation,” Jesse said with a crooked grin. “My parents were bards. I grew up with a taste for drama and romance. I’d like to think the day could be saved by a kiss and a song.”

“Planning on smooching the dryad?” Jamie smirked.

That earned him another bright laugh. “If it comes to that, sure. Hero’s gotta do what a hero’s gotta do.”

“If you are finished chatting like noblewomen,” Hanzo’s severe voice cut in, “may we proceed with this plan? I wish to leave this hovel as soon as possible.” He glared at them, arms crossed.

“What a coinky-dink!” Jamie cried in mock-delight. “I want you out of my hovel as soon as possible too! Come along then, gents. To the main event!”

Shouldering his traps, Jamie marched towards the door on the far side of the room. Unlocking it, he gestured for the three mercs to follow.

“I was wondering where this led,” Genji said softly, peering into the tunnel.

“To another disgusting basement, perhaps?” Hanzo suggested gruffly.

“Even better,” Jamie chirped. They were nearing the exit now… “Welcome, friends, to my valley!”

“Well, fuck me and call me a cleric,” Jesse said with a long, awed whistle. “Ain’t ever seen somethin’ so purty in my life.”

His words held credence. At night, when the moon was gently bathing the valley in its light, the whole place seemed to glow. The subtle ruffle of wildflowers mixed with the rushing river to create a rhythm, and the distant noises of the forest added their voices to the chorus. In the darkness, the signs Jamie used to organize his gardens looked like grave markers.

“C’mon, the big brute will be in there,” he whispered, pointing towards the forest. “Stick to the mountains’ shadows, we’ll sneak in and split up.”

If there were any disagreements to that plan, nobody voiced them. Much to Jamie’s delight, they were speechless. They followed him without question, eyes roving around the valley. Finally, some proper respect. They reached the woods with no incident, huddling up close.

“All right, Jesse and I will start off this way,” Genji said quietly. “You go that way. There’s only one dryad, it seems, so if it finds you, yell for help. We probably don’t want to face it alone.” His helmet bobbed slightly. “Good luck.”

“Happy huntin’,” Jesse added, perhaps a bit louder than was wise. While the cake Jamie made would speed up the sobering process, it was fairly obvious that Jesse wasn’t all the way there. He and Genji turned and walked off.

Jamie watched them go - not a bad view - then looked at Hanzo. The archer was staring right back at him, though his expression was not quite as disdainful as it was earlier. While his face was by no means friendly, something had changed.

“Well,” Jamie said abruptly. “Off we go, then?”

Hanzo gave a vague grunt and stalked past him into the trees. Jamie rolled his eyes and followed. He could already feel the oppressive shroud of silence descending upon them. He couldn’t stand it.

“ _So_ , Twinkletoes…”

“Hanzo.”

“What did I say?”

Hanzo chose not to grace that with a response.

“Ah, never mind.” Jamie watched him closely. “What do you think of Jesse?” Subtlety was never in his nature.

Hanzo nearly tripped over a root, but managed to recover while maintaining his haughty composure. “McCree? He is a fool.”

Jamie snorted. “No shit, if he likes an arse like you.”

“What did you say?” Hanzo stopped dead in his tracks, casting his eyes to Jamie once more. Except now, instead of scathing disgust, his stare was one of shock.

Jamie put his metallic hand on his hip. He was thankful in that moment for the fact that he towered over Hanzo in height. “You're shitting me, right. You are aware that he is experiencing a profound attraction, sexual or otherwise, to you, yes?” It took all his willpower not to dissolve into laughter; he was trying to channel his best Ana impression.

Hanzo looked away. “You are a fool as well.”

“Cheers.” Jamie pushed on ahead of him, glancing around at their surroundings. Finding a good spot in a particularly dense area of trees, he set one of his traps down, kicking some dirt and brush over it in an attempt to better conceal it. Over his shoulder he casually called, “So, what you're saying is he's available.”

“I do not know, nor do I care.” His flinch said otherwise. 

“Good _gods_ ,” Jamie groaned, rounding on Hanzo. “A bloke like that? Like Jesse? That's not someone whose time you waste. If he was even the _least_ bit interested in me, I'd be on him in a second.” It had been a long time since Jamie had felt so _bitter_. “But he's not. He's pitchin’ a tent for you, mate, and if that feeling is at all mutual, do us all a favor and set up camp.” Hanzo made no rebuttal, so Jamie ranted on, “I imagine Jesse and I both regret not expressing some feelings until it was too late. Trust me, you don't want to know that regret.”

As he marched forward into the dark forest, he could have sworn he heard Hanzo mumble, “I already do.”

They returned to that familiar, sullen silence, only broken by the occasional snapping of twigs or crunching of leaves underfoot. After several minutes, they reached a clearing, another potential spot for a trap. Jamie started squinting about for a good place, but was stopped by some sudden words.

“It was a decent thing you did.” The reluctant statement almost didn't register with Jamie. He turned to gaze at Hanzo, bewildered. 

“What?” He couldn't believe it. Did Hanzo just compliment him?

The archer shifted uncomfortably. “What you did for McCree earlier,” he clarified. “It was decent of you.”

“Well, thanks, mate,” he said, an eyebrow raised, “but I didn't do it for your approval.”

Hanzo snorted indignantly. “I highly doubt I will ever approve of you.”

“Backatcha.” In that moment, Jamie wondered if they were coming to some sort of truce, but the idea was not elaborated on as Hanzo looked past Jamie and frowned.

“What is that?”

Jamie followed his gaze, brows shooting up towards his ragged hairline. A grin crossed his face. “ _That_ , my friend, is a lead on exactly what we’re looking for.”

Across the clearing, half-hidden in the shade of some tall pines, was a gigantic, hollow stump. The very same stump Jamie had seen the other night during his first encounter with the dryad. Colored by innumerable flowers and fungi, the old tree was rather beautiful, just as the creature himself had an odd allure to him. But, more importantly, the dryad had pointed to this stump as his ‘stake on the land’. There was something important about it; had Jamie been a better member of his old clan, perhaps he would have known was exactly that something was.

“All right, listen up, Hannie,” Jamie said, excitement swelling in his chest. This was almost over. “This lump of wood right here is key. We should keep an eye--”

He stopped mid-sentence. Tearing across the quiet night sky, a strangled yell echoed over the treetops. The noise was definitely coming from somewhere in the forest, and it sounded like…

“McCree!” Without hesitation, Hanzo was off, bolting from the clearing in the direction of the shout. He paid no attention to Jamie’s cry of “Wait!” In the blink of an eye, he was gone, the thunderous crash of his footsteps fading into the distance.

“Son of a _bitch_ ,” Jamie spat. There was no way he could catch up to Hanzo, but he needed to move. Hanzo had just given up their position, and if by some miracle the dryad wasn’t aware of their presence before, he undoubtedly was now. Jamie couldn’t linger.

He had barely taken a step when all the air was knocked from his lungs. Something had caught him around the middle, painfully digging into his side. With a mighty yank, Jamie was being dragged backwards, the wind rushing by making his eyes water. He managed to look down: there was a hook. A very familiar one. He gasped out an “Oof!” when his back slammed into something impossibly solid, something he didn’t have to see to know what it was. He felt the hook drop away, only to be replaced by a giant hand wrapping around his navel, another one clapping over his mouth. He could feel the oxygen being squeezed out of him.

“I told you to leave my valley,” that low, rumbling voice growled in his ear. “Instead, you bring more of your kind to defile this land.” Hot breath washed over Jamie’s neck with every word. He was expecting the dryad to snarl, to lash out, to scream… He wasn’t expecting the dryad to laugh. It was nothing like Jesse’s laugh, drunk or sober. There was no humor to it, just a quiet, menacing sadism that sent chills up Jamie’s spine. It was the kind of laugh that could break spirits and unravel minds in an instant, and Jamie was dying to hear it again. “They will never find your body.”

If his laugh could unravel minds, then his words could stop hearts.

The realization of his situation hit Jamie fast. This dryad was going to make good on his promise to kill him. Hanzo had vanished, Jesse might be in trouble… He was on his own with a killer tree. “Now just wait a minute,” Jamie stammered quickly against the dryad’s thick fingers. His words were muffled, and it seemed likely that they weren’t heard at all. “This is all a huge misunderstanding--”

“ _Quiet_.” The dryad started taking long lumbering steps towards the giant, hollow trunk. When Jamie began squirming in his grasp, he only squeezed tighter. “They will _never_ find your body.” That crazed laugh filled Jamie’s ears again as the dryad carried him to his tree. It was getting so hard to breathe…

The last thing Jamison saw before passing out was the dryad stepping through the hollow opening, followed by a bright flash of color.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took so long to get out. I got a concussion, unfortunately, so I was recovering for much of last month. Almost all better now, so here it is! Enjoy!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Truths come out, for better or for worse, and only confirm how little is actually known of the world. Jamison is separated from his mercenaries, and only a new friend can help bring them back together. But just what is the cost of this friendship?

Hanzo’s heart thudded heavily against his chest as he sprinted through the woods. Behind him, the muffled sounds of a scrap rang out through the night, but he couldn’t bring himself to turn around. It didn’t make sense. He was supposed to be protecting Fawkes. He was supposed to make sure he got paid. McCree was not supposed to be his priority, neither was Genji. But any shred of doubt that told him to turn around vanished the moment he recalled the sound of McCree’s strangled scream.

His jaw set and he ran as hard as he could.

Navigating the forest was not an easy feat, as Hanzo quickly found. Roots threatened to trip him every step of the way, and in the dark, everything looked the same.

Hanzo took a deep breath, briefly touching his left arm. The elaborate ink that covered the skin seemed to tingle with energy. He urged himself to be calm, drew an arrow, and loosed it into the black forest. Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried to block out the electric jolt that shot from the tips of his fingers up through the rest of his body.

When he opened his eyes, he saw the forest in a new light.

The woods were no longer shrouded in darkness, but were rather alive with movement. Critters dashed through the underbrush, desperate to evade the eyes of a predator. A light breeze ran through, rustling leaves as it passed in a sort of lazy dance. He could see everything, including the distant, distinct shapes of his brother and the fool. But… something was wrong… Genji appeared to be sprawled out on the ground, and McCree was hanging, motionless, above him.

Pulse quickening and energy crackling, Hanzo sprinted in their direction, paying no mind to anything else the forest had to offer.

Once upon a time, perhaps in another life, Hanzo could have been a mage. In his homeland, magic was not terribly uncommon. Monks and priestesses were highly respected, and warlocks often found seats of power in emperors’ courts as consuls. However, among the more renowned, traditional family clans, status quo ruled all.

The Shimada clan had an odd, carefully hidden history, one that left it the subject of many rumors and gossip. They were known to the public as a dangerous war clan. To those that considered themselves more informed, the Shimadas were assassins, often considered little better than criminals. The truth of the matter, however, was known only to the family itself, and only to the most important members within: magic ran in the Shimada blood. And yet, they were not mages.

For reasons unknown to Hanzo, the Shimada clan did not care to embrace their arcane gifts outwardly. Members of the clan studied traditional weapons, honing their skills in more ‘reliable’ means. Hanzo’s childhood was punctuated with warnings and lectures, threats of what could happen if his magic spiralled out of control. That was the constant lesson: control, responsibility. He was taught to use magic only to empower his prowess in battle, as was Genji. He never questioned it in the clan, but ever since he left and became a mercenary, Hanzo started to wonder.

What if he had put more focus into his magic?

Was there still a chance of changing that?

Would Genji’s fate have been different?

Of course, wondering did little for him, particularly at that moment. He ran as hard as he could, his throat raw and pained by his labored breath. He was getting close now, he was sure of it. After McCree’s initial yell, an unnerving silence had then followed. McCree and Genji, not making any noise? That was probably the most worrisome thing Hanzo could think of.

Hanzo was thankful for the shining moonlight that occasionally broke through the thick canopy of leaves above. As he approached the area of the forest where McCree and Genji were, Hanzo could see the gleam of metal slicing through the darkness. His brother's enchanted, glowing body was a beacon.

“Genji!” Pressing through some brush, Hanzo fell to his knees at his brother's side. Genji was collapsed on the mossy ground, deathly still. The magical aura surrounding his artificial body made him look like an apparition. Hanzo moved to grab at his shoulder, but recoiled when his fingers hit the cold metal. “Genji…”

“Ugh… Brother…” Hanzo jumped when the hollow rasp rattled out of Genji’s helmet. “Five more minutes…”

Hanzo exhaled hard through his nose, an odd sound partway between relief and disdain. “Lazy,” he chided, but his voice broke halfway through the word. He couldn't suppress the smile spreading across his face, either.

“I saw that,” Genji teased, sitting up. “You're going soft, Brother. Urgh… that thing hits like a dragon… but… it didn't much look like what Fawkes described. Perhaps the darkness…” His words cut off, his head whipping around. “Where’s Jesse?!”

The sight of Genji had distracted Hanzo, but the mention of McCree brought all his anxiety flooding back. He looked up, not daring to breathe…

And nearly choked at what he saw.

McCree was hanging from a bough, gently swaying. However, it was not rope that supported him, but rather thick vines entwined about him. The vine wound down around his shoulders, twisting intricately about his arms to pull them tightly behind his back. The vine led down around his midriff, running across his hips to encircle one thigh. It wrapped tightly around his legs, squeezing them closed, before doubling back up around his torso. His head lolled on his shoulder, mouth hanging open slightly. Further down the branch, Peacekeeper dangled loosely from another vine.

“He’s not…” Hanzo’s voice broke against his will as he stared up at McCree’s body. “He can’t be--”

“No, look,” Genji said hopefully, getting to his feet and staring up at his friend. “He’s breathing. And drooling. I think he’s asleep. I’ll cut him down, you catch him.”

“What?” Before Hanzo’s brain could process the plan and muster up a reasonable protest, Genji was already scrambling up the tree, showing off his balance as he stepped out onto the branch. It was strong enough to hold McCree’s weight, clearly, but Hanzo wasn’t sure how it would fare with Genji’s mass added to the equation.

Fortunately, it seemed to hold up fairly well, as Genji dropped down to straddle the branch above where McCree was hanging. He drew his blade, pressing it to the vine, and called down, “Get ready, I’m going to drop him now.” And with one fluid movement, Genji’s sword sliced through the vine with ease.

Hanzo was not ready to catch McCree.

In an instant, Hanzo was knocked to the ground, barely able to let out a gasp of surprise. McCree’s incredibly solid form had slammed into him as he fell, dragging him to the ground with him. Hanzo’s back hit the forest floor, lights popping up in his vision from where he hit his head. He wheezed out a low groan, wriggling under the other mercenary’s weight. “Genji, get him off of me this instant!”

The only response he got was hysterical laughter.

“This is not a joke, Brother, I am _serious_. I swear, when I get my hands on you--” Hanzo’s words died in his throat when he felt McCree shift around on top of him. Humming slightly in his sleep, McCree pressed his face into Hanzo’s pectorals, a dopey smile spreading on his lips as he nuzzled closer. His hat had fallen from his head, allowing his wild hair to splay out across Hanzo’s neck. The strands tickled his skin, sending a shock of pink up to color his cheeks. The vines, still wrapped tightly around McCree’s body, were starting to dig into his own flesh uncomfortably. Hanzo wanted to scream, but his mouth simply refused to make noise, his tongue feeling dry and swollen.

Genji’s laughter only increased in volume and raucousness. “Holy shit, Brother, I told you to get ready!” he managed to croak out in between cackles. “Oh, you are _ridiculous_.” He leaned back slightly, still perched up on the branch like some oversized bird, and stared down at his brother’s predicament. He gave no indication of moving to help just yet. In fact, he did pretty much the worst thing he could have done for Hanzo at the moment: he woke McCree up. “Jesse! Jesse, nap time is over. Time to rise!”

“Five more minutes…” McCree’s mumbled words rolled out over Hanzo’s skin, his hot breath sending electricity down his spine. The bristles of his beard rubbed slightly against Hanzo’s chest, his lips just barely brushing him…

“Lazy,” Genji called down in his best Hanzo impression. His helmet could not hide his wicked glee at the situation. “You'll regret sleeping through this one, Jesse.”

McCree’s eyes fluttered open, bleary with sleep and confusion. “What? Where--oh.” His gaze locked onto Hanzo’s partially bared chest, before flicking up towards his face. Hanzo didn't dare to breathe as he stared back with wide, panicked eyes, feeling the color that spotted his cheeks beginning to intensify. McCree’s tongue darted out of his mouth to wet his own lips, a split-second action that mesmerized Hanzo, before saying hoarsely, “Shit, Shimada, this… I'm sorry about whatever just happened.” He sounded hushed, almost fearful for how Hanzo might react. It made Hanzo’s chest ache, although that might have just been from the lack of proper breathing. 

“Forget about it,” Hanzo said brusquely, averting his eyes. “Please get off of me.”

“Oh, right.” McCree shifted slightly, a move that nearly made Hanzo hiss in surprise; doing so had pressed McCree’s thigh against the front of his trousers. The friction, while not unpleasant, was nothing short of startling. “What the… why can't I move?” McCree’s words sounded a bit panicked as well, and Hanzo remembered that he was still bound up in vines.

“The dryad must have… constricted you,” Hanzo said gruffly, still not meeting his eyes.

McCree looked disturbed at that. “I got a bone to pick with Jamie… weren't nothing like he said.” He seemed dazed, as if he wasn't even there. “Whatever ambushed us here… there was two of ‘em.”

“What?” Hanzo barely whispered out that shocked word before a terrible cracking sound broke through the quiet; the tree had had enough, and its bough snapped and fell to the ground, bringing Genji and Peacekeeper with it... directly onto McCree’s back. 

The air was torn with a variety of colorful curses, punctuated by a sheepish, “Sorry,” from Genji.

“Fuck me gently with a pickaxe!” McCree hissed, the impact sending his face back into the valley of Hanzo’s chest. “Genji, fer fuck’s sake!”

“I said I was sorry--”

“OFF! Both of you!” bellowed Hanzo, and Genji immediately scrambled away. “Genji, get rid of those vines at once!” This time, Genji complied right away, carefully cutting McCree free. As soon as McCree had lifted himself, Hanzo scrambled out and away from him. He was mentally preparing himself for more teasing from Genji, but his brother had grown serious after McCree’s words.

“I thought something seemed off… I got knocked out quick, so I didn't see them.” Genji tapped a few fingers against his faceplate. “What did they look like, Jesse?”

“Well for one, not nearly as big as Jamie was claimin’.” McCree frowned. “I only saw one silhouette, but I heard two voices. Sounded like a coupla ladies. One was talkin’ much more’n the other, other was just sorta gruntin’ in response. The loud one... Weren't speakin’ the common parlance, y’know, which would make sense, but…” He scratched at his beard. “I recognized what she was sayin’. It's a tongue spoken out west, where I'm from. ‘ _Apagando las luces_.’ Lights out.” He gave a quiet chuckle, then added, “True ‘nough, I passed out afterward. Or got knocked out. Been awhile since I slept that well.”

“So, Fawkes lied?” Hanzo scowled.

“Doubt it,” Jesse said quickly. “Reckon we should ask the fella himself. Where, ah…” He paused and looked around meaningfully. “Where is he?”

Hanzo went stock still.

“Brother…” Genji started slowly, with the same tone one might take with a naughty child. “Where is Jamison?”

“He was behind me. It is not my fault if he chose not to follow me.” Hanzo’s words were rough, but his face was colored with embarrassment. He had abandoned the client, and he knew it.

“Y’re shittin’ me.” Nothing stung quite as bad as the flat disappointment in McCree’s voice. “Dammit, Shimada, how long have you been doin’ mercenary work?! Ya don’t just leave the guy that’s payin’ ya!”

“I… thought you were in trouble,” Hanzo managed to say weakly. “I heard you scream.”

“Well, shit, man, I ain’t exactly the quietest mouse in the barn, now am I?” McCree seemed… angry. Hanzo didn’t know he could even _get_ angry. Up until now, the man had appeared to be all smiles and quips. “Jamie was trustin’ us to watch his back on this, and you _abandoned_ him.”

“Jesse,” Genji said, seeming pretty stunned himself at the turn of events. “It’s okay, Jesse, we will track him down.”

“I reckon there’ll be three against one now,” McCree said darkly. “Don’t like those odds. Not sure there’s gonna be much left to track down. Well, git on with it.” He cast his stormy gaze to Hanzo. “Where’d ya leave him?”

Hanzo did not move for a long moment, before his signature scowl settled back on his fine features. “This way,” he growled, brushing past him. 

Foolish. This whole thing was foolish. He was going to find Jamison Fawkes no matter what, if only to give him a serious earful about the stupidity of expressing one’s feelings.

Since Hanzo had started leading the other two mercenaries back to the clearing where he had left Fawkes, McCree’s mouth had remained clamped shut in a scowl that didn’t fit his handsome face. He kept Peacekeeper out and ready, white knuckles standing out against the dark handle of the crossbow. Normally, Hanzo would consider the uncharacteristic quiet a blessing, but now, once he was actually experiencing it, it wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Inwardly, he missed the bad jokes and odd slang and embarrassing flirting… That was all a thousand times better than stony silence, not that he’d actually admit that to McCree or his brother.

Genji had made no attempt to bridge the empty air between them. Typically, he’d be just as chatty as McCree, but no one seemed to be in a typical mood right then. He trailed behind Hanzo silently, the glow emanating off his body appearing dimmer than usual.

“Here,” Hanzo said tersely as they reached the clearing where the large, decorated stump sat. “Fawkes had pointed out this trunk and placed one of his traps, when…” His words died off as he looked around, brow furrowing in confusion.

“What’s wrong?” Genji followed his brother’s gaze to a patch of grass in front of the hollow tree; to him, nothing seemed particularly out of the ordinary.

“He placed the trap right here, before we heard McCree’s yell.” Hanzo approached the trunk cautiously. There was not a single trace of the trap. “He said this tree was the key--”

“ _Paren, chicos_. Back away from the tree.”

The mercs flinched back, drawing weapons as they looked about wildly for the source of those words.

“That's the voice from before,” McCree hissed, Peacekeeper at the ready. “Where are ya?! Lemme introduce you to my friend here an’ thank you for the li’l nap earlier…” He jostled the crossbow menacingly. Hanzo had never seen him like this before.

“Ay, how _scary_.” The amusement in the words made it fairly clear the speaker was anything but scared. “Relax. I'd say ‘you're welcome’, but I'm not responsible for that lullaby.” A simpering, quiet chuckle. “All the same, I did do you boys a solid. You're in dangerous woods here, but apparently you've got yourselves a guardian angel. Isn't that right, Jesse McCree?”

Hanzo glanced at McCree, eyebrows raised appraisingly. McCree looked just as surprised at this.

“What’re ya even talking about?” he growled, growing more agitated with every second. Genji appeared to realize this, as he cut in loudly.

“Show yourself,” he demanded, sheathing his sword. “Speak plainly with us, and we will not hurt you.”

“You three are no fun.” The air before them shimmered slightly with a bright purple glow. It distorted, then revealed the mysterious speaker. Hovering in front of the hollow trunk, barely a foot tall, was a tiny woman, held aloft by a pair of jewel-bright wings. Her eyes shone through the gloom, a striking violet, and her pearly white teeth were bared in a wide grin. “Howdy,” she said with a mocking lilt, curtsying midair.

“Faeries,” McCree groaned. “Peachy.” Looking superbly disdainful, he lifted Peacekeeper dead-level with her eyes. “Bye-bye, little lady.”

Both Shimada brothers murmured in concern at the sudden motion. The faerie reeled away from the very sharp bolt pointed directly at her face, looking perturbed for the first time. “Calm down, you crazy bastard!” she hissed, holding her hands up in surrender. “Didn't you hear me? I'm a friend of a friend! We're on the same side!”

“Way I see it,” McCree growled, not lowering his crossbow an inch, “y’re the only thing standin’ between me and rescuin’ my friend. We know this tree is important, so don't bother playin’ innocent on that front.” He spat on the ground. “I wouldn't be claimin’ to be on the same side as us after you ambushed us, either.”

“Do you ever listen?” The faerie went from desperate to exasperated in record time. “You're in dangerous woods, claimed by one very large, very angry dryad. I was told to make sure you two specifically were safely out of his rampage. Half of the Fae Realm is buzzing about this little pissing match your friend Jamison's started, enough to attract the attention of our mutual friend--” She paused, eyes glittering mischievously. “A certain Ana Amari. Ring any bells?”

“That's impossible,” McCree said promptly, voice flat and almost bored sounding. Peacekeeper did not budge. “Ana Amari’s dead. Blatant lies won't save your hide, gnat.”

“Sombra,” she corrected with more than a hint of resentment. “And it's more possible than you think. Who do you think tucked you two in for your little power nap?” She glanced slyly between Genji and McCree.

McCree seemed ready to disregard this as well, but Genji looked thoughtful. “That would make sense,” he said slowly.

“Yeah, sure, save for the fact that Ana _died_.” McCree’s sarcasm had a dark edge that didn't seem to fit him. “Makes perfect sense.”

“We were put to sleep, not harmed, Jesse,” he reasoned. “That doesn’t at all sound like Ana’s work to you?” McCree merely glowered in response.

“You think you know everything about Ana Amari? Please.” Sombra’s snide tone was a strong match for Jesse’s. “Look, I'm interested in making new friends. Always. Girl like me needs someone big and strong to look out for me, after all.” She fluttered her eyelashes and gave the most insincere smile they had ever seen, leaving no doubt that Sombra was _not_ in need of protection. “If there's one thing I'm good - no, the _best_ \- at, it's information. That little tidbit about your old friend, well, consider it a show of good will.” Her smile widened, wings fluttering an excited beat. “Work with me, and I'll get you all you need to know to help your _new_ friend.” Her gaze fixed on Hanzo. “You know, the one you left behind?”

Much to Hanzo’s surprise, before he could even get a heated remark in at the faerie, McCree took a threatening step forward.

“For someone lookin’ for friends, ya ain’t actin’ so friendly. My friends don't treat each other like shit.” McCree scowled, then slung his weapon across his back. “You'd best be rememberin’ that, little lady.”

Her grin turned into grimace. “Funny,” she said dryly. “Very well. Do we have a deal, then?”

Genji crossed his arms. “What exactly are we expected to uphold on our end of this ‘deal’?”

“Same as what I expect from dear Ana,” Sombra said, any trace of humor replaced with cool indifference. “I help my friends, and I expect the same in return. So, if I come calling with a particular favor in mind…” She shrugged, shifting in the night air. “Well, it would only be right for upstanding gentlemen like yourselves to help your favorite gal out, don’t you think?”

Hanzo and Genji exchanged looks, but McCree was already grumbling out, “Fine, _amiga_. Help us out.”

Her sweetly sinister smile returned in a flash. “Gladly, _amigo_.” She turned to face the hollow tree. “You were right,” she called casually over her shoulder, “about this trunk. It’s an anchor that binds your realm and mine, courtesy of your dear Jamison’s nemesis. Mako, the killer tree. Thing is, only a member of the Fae can properly bridge the gap between worlds.” She pressed her tiny hands to the bark, a violet pulse running out from her fingertips. The tree seemed to shimmer in the moonlight, and Sombra threw a cheeky wink back at the mercs. “Lucky for you, you’ve got friends in high places. Follow me.” She flew into the trunk, disappearing the moment she made contact.

McCree followed without a second’s hesitation, jaw set and fists clenched. The Shimadas shared one last silent look before stepping through.

Sombra may have had pretty wings, but Hanzo was fairly certain they had just made a deal with a devil.

\--

The sky was the loveliest shade of green.

Jamie frowned. That didn't seem right. Green? Forcing himself to sit up, Jamie squinted upwards at the brilliant verdant above, before realizing he was actually staring at a canopy of leaves. So, he was back in the forest, still in the valley, and he had simply woken from a terrible nightmare.

He allowed himself a quiet chuckle, bringing a hand up to his face. “What a crazy fuckin’ dream,” he muttered. 

“Watch your language, Jamison.”

He jumped, skin going white as a sheet. Now there was a voice straight out of his nightmares… worn, weathered with age, like smoke settling over the mountains. Stern but motherly, straining to hide the affection threatening to bubble up into the word ‘Jamison’. A voice he hadn’t heard in years, yet it was one that haunted him whenever silence fell about his shoulders. Dryads were one thing, but he was not equipped to handle ghosts. He turned his head slowly, squinting into the shadows of the trees. There, leaning against an old oak, barely visible against it…

“Ana?” The crack in his voice betrayed the desperate hope behind her name. Scrambling to stand, Jamie faced the figure fully. That certainly appeared to be her, right size, same slightly stooped back… Why wasn’t she coming out to greet him? It had been so damn long… “Ana, what… where the fuck have you been? I saw… I was there when you…” He couldn’t bring himself to recount those old, bad memories. He had punched them down into his subconscious as hard as he could, not wanting to remember the fire, the screams, the way everything was gone in a flash. The only time in his life an explosion filled him with fear, and sadness, and hatred. He took a few halting steps towards her, but she shrunk away further into the shade of the forest. “They told me you didn’t make it out in time.”

“Jamison, there are a few things you should know first,” she said tersely, stopping him in his tracks. “Important things.”

“Damn right, I think I’m owed an explanation here, Ana,” he responded, a bit louder than he intended. His heart was beating furiously against his chest; his mentor, the closest thing he had to a mother, was right there, alive and well, and all he wanted to do was hug the shit out of her. “First off, why the fuck are you running away from me?”

“Jamison, please calm yourself.” That familiar tone she took, controlled with just a hint of impatience, was more soothing than a lullaby. “I want to tell you everything, and I want you to understand, but first you need to know _you are still in danger_.”

He recoiled. So it wasn’t just a dream.

“I will protect you, Jamison, but I have no control over Mako. When he returns, he’ll--”

“Who the fuck is Mako?” Already Jamie was lost.

She didn’t bother to hide her annoyance now. “Watch it. I was under the impression you were familiar with Mako already. Large, carries a hook, dragged you into your current situation? Don’t tell me my brightest student’s lost his cleverness.”

Jamie gaped at her silhouette. “You _know_ that monster?”

“Don’t call him that.” There was a tinge of hurt in her voice, barely recognizable beneath her typical sternness.

“But that’s what he is,” Jamie insisted, glaring into the darkness. “He’s tried to kill me, and probably my friends - er, colleagues, I guess - too. What else am I supposed… to call…” The words died in his mouth as Ana stepped out into the light.

She looked much like he remembered, but then again wildly different. Her dark skin had taken on the appearance of tough, weathered oak. A shroud of dark leaves wrapped around her from head to toe. A deep indigo flower bloomed where her right eye would have been, but her left still held the gentle warmth he remembered from his younger years. She was an old tree, still standing despite all odds.

She was a dryad.

“Oh.” A lump was forming in Jamie's throat. “Guess this is what I needed to know, then.”

She chuckled dryly at that. “You're taking this awfully well, Jamison,” she said, pulling her cloak a little closer about herself. 

“Yeah, nah, just hasn't fully sunk in yet,” he responded with a shrug. “I'll start screaming any second now.”

Her amusement quickly turned to concern. “Please don't. There's no telling what might be drawn to that here.”

“What, like squirrels?” Jamie snorted. “Worst I've ever seen around here is a fox.”

“Jamison…” She stared at him, bemused. “Where do you think we are?”

“That a joke? The valley, in the forest, surrounded by…” He took a good look around him. There were no mountains. No sign of the tunnel back to his cabin. They were not in the valley. “Holy shit, where are we?”

Ana sighed. “That's what I've been trying to tell you,” she grumbled, scratching at the bark of her cheek. “Mako brought you here when he carried you through his tree. You're in the Fae Realm now, Jamison. You’re going to see a lot more than foxes here.”

\--

“If you eat those too fast, Hana, you’re gonna get a stomach ache.”

“Shut up, Luce, you sound just like Ana!”

Jamie could only laugh as his best friends as they bickered all the way down the lane. His pegleg kept a hollow rhythm as they moved slowly across the cobblestone streets, not a care in the world. 

At the end of every week, Hana would gather up the tips she had earned from selling Ana’s potions, then drag Jamie and Lúcio to the small bakery on the other side of town. A small white bag in hand, she would run to Miss Zhou, the baker, and hand over her week’s earnings and the bag. Miss Zhou would proceed to make a big show of the “vast riches” Hana presented her with, before filling the bag with fresh sweets and pastries. Jamie never mentioned it, but he had secretly done the math; whatever Miss Zhou gave Hana each week always cost more than Hana had to give. After he figured that out, he made a point to smile at the baker whenever he had the chance, though her fondness for him fell considerably short of her fondness for Hana. He had a feeling Miss Zhou still hadn’t forgiven him for the time he slipped some of his failed fire resistance potion turned magical hair dye into some of her customers’ treats.

That week, Hana’s bag was filled to the brim with treats Miss Zhou called “snowballs”. Tiny packed balls of rice, sweetened deliciously with a pinch of sugar, and covered in shavings of a strange fruit Jamie had never even heard of. He figured ‘coconuts’ didn’t actually exist and Miss Zhou was just pulling his leg, but he didn’t say so to Hana. She couldn’t get enough of the sweets.

“Stomach ache or nah, you’re gonna wanna take it slow,” Jamie advised, grinning down at Hana as she continued to stuff her face. “You’ll be sad when they’re gone and you didn’t take the time to truly appreciate them.”

Hana laughed, elegantly showing off a mouthful of rice, and playfully bumped into him. “I’ll just get more next week, silly!”

“Guys.” Lúcio’s voice, serious and hushed, brought them back to reality. They looked at him, confusion in their eyes, but he wasn’t returning their gaze. An expression of horror locked on his face, he stared dead ahead. “Is that smoke?”

Jamie followed his friend’s eyes. Rising above the town’s rooftops, an unmistakable black cloud billowed upwards in a stark column. “Shit, shit, shit,” he cursed under his breath, grabbing Hana’s arm and hobbling down the street as fast as he could. For once, Hana made no comment, instead gaping, wide-eyed, at the great plumes of smoke. Lúcio tore after them, but not before quickly stooping to pick up the bag Hana had dropped, snowballs spilling out onto the cobblestones.

Jamison’s worst fears were soon confirmed. To his side, Hana gave a whimper that didn’t match her normally sunny disposition. A crowd was gathering in the street in front of the old house, screams calling for help or water. A charred, broken sign lay on the doorstep: “Amari’s Alchemicals”.

“No… no, no, no!” He let go of Hana, pacing wildly behind the crowd. He’d only been out with his friends for an hour, two at most. How could this have happened? Desperation boiling in his stomach, he ran to one of the closest people in the crowd, pulling their sleeve.

The figure was wrapped head to toe in dark plum robes, hood open just enough to reveal a pair of brilliant purple eyes. Blinking slowly down at Jamie, the figure spoke in a low tone, “Were you Ana’s friend?” The heavily-concealed woman glanced at Hana and Lúcio behind him.

He didn’t like her use of past tense there. “I am,” he said, barely succeeding at keeping his voice steady. “What happened? Is she… Did Ana get out? Where’s Fareeha?”

The woman stared forward at the building, at the orange flames licking upward through the open windows. “Some are saying she got careless with her alchemy,” she said, in a tone one might adopt for discussing the weather. “Ana had many friends, old and new. I suspect an old friend in need may have come calling. She will be missed, I’m sure.” The woman paused. “You’re gonna want to stand back.”

“What?” He took a hesitant step backwards, rushing to process all this strange woman’s words. Was she threatening him? Before he could make sense of any of it, an earth-shattering boom exploded across the evening. The flames became an inferno, completely consuming the house that had finally started to feel like a home. The members of the crowd shrieked and scattered, not wanting to get caught in the sudden explosion. Jamie raised his metal arm to protect his face from the heat wave. When he lowered it, the woman in the plum robes was gone.

Hana was crying. Lúcio stood in paralyzing shock. The crowd had left the three of them to watch their life fall apart once again. Inside, Jamie felt something snap.

He turned and ran, as fast and far as he could go. He could hear his friends calling after him, but he ignored them as best he could. People in the streets got out of his way as he passed, staring in concern after him but not bothering to stop him. They whispered and tutted behind him. Everyone had seen. Everyone would know about the odd elf boy.

As he left town, tears streaming down his cheeks from wide unseeing eyes, Jamison Fawkes was giggling like a madman.

**Author's Note:**

> My first Overwatch fic as well as my first post on AO3. There's a heck of a lot of world building throughout this story, so it's not gonna be porn without plot. But it does have a neat fantasy AU, so that's kinda cool. I like to think that Junkrat is actually a genius, but just prefers not using his intelligence most of the time. Anyway, thanks so much for reading! My tumblr is "thegrumpydockworker" as well, so feel free to message me on there.


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